The Dragon Prince
by TheDragonHero147
Summary: AU: Lyanna Stark lived; R L J; Jon was born with purple eyes; Ned told Cateyln the truth in the early months of their marriage. Consequences for the Stark's and Westeros.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is an idea that came into my head after reading another Fan-Fiction called Snow by VVSINGOFTHECROSS. I'm sorry if the first chapter is crap because I just wrote it all up in one sitting. Please review. I've aged up all the main characters slightly, so when Jon is first introduced in the book he is fourteen. In this story, he'll be fifteen as will Robb. All aged by a year at least. **_

It was in sullen silence as Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, rode with uneasy haste to rescue his sister. The rebellion against the Iron Throne and the Targaryens had ended officially a month ago. Ned had just come from lifting the siege of Storm's End from the Tyrell's, a task that proved rather easy when Mace Tyrell had heard of the death of Aerys, the Second of his Name. His mind had been full of many things at that time that he had only been paying half of his attention as he gave Stannis Baratheon order from Robert to take Dragonstone. Ned had come from King's Landing, feeling a fury that he had never felt before in his life. The city had been sacked on the orders of Tywin Lannister. His men had put men to the sword and raped countless of women, while buildings and structures were torn apart as an open threat to the Mad King. It was clear that Tywin wanted to be on the winning side of the war.

When Eddard Stark had found Jaime Lannister seated on the Iron Throne with King Aerys lying still near his feet in a pool of blood, only one thought had run through his mind as he attempted to comprehend the scene. _My chance for vengeance had been taken. _Ned recalled. _Father, Brandon, Jeffory Mallister, Kyle Royce, Elbert Arryn. My hope to kill the Mad King for causing this sadness to my family was ruined by the young lion – a knight of the Kingsguard. _It continued to shame him even now of how the thought of revenge against King Aerys had clouded his better judgement for that one moment. He knew one thing though: Jaime Lannister had broken his vows and had slain the king he had sworn to protect.

Robert Baratheon arrived in the city to a hero's welcome and had sat on the Iron Throne for a few minutes when Lord Tywin had presented the bodies of Princess Elia, Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. Their bodies had been wrapped in Lannister crimson to better preserve the blood and gore. An obvious sign of fealty that the Lannister' had broken away from the Targaryens forever, Tywin seemed proud full of what he had just. Robert had looked away, but a sigh of relief had escaped from his mouth. Eddard had been horrified; the princess and her children had been innocents and the royal's wee children. Their deaths were pointless wastes of lives. Eddard spent the next five days arguing with Robert about this and Jamie Lannisters actions, he argued that Jamie Lannister should either be sent to the wall or have his life declared forfeit for betraying his most solemn vow as a member of the Kingsguard. Robert and Jon Arryn had disagreed with this, saying that this would be an unwanted slight Tywin who had done a regretful, but necessary service. Aegon had had his head smashed in by Ser Gregor; a massive pulp of flesh was all that remained of his face. Rhaenys had been stabbed half-a-hundred times by Amory Lorch and Elia…oh Gods. It had seemed the Mountain had raped and murdered her in cold blood. He didn't even seem to regret his actions.

Eddard was also too stunned and haunted by the sight of the Princess and the children's bodies that he argued stringently for Tywin Lannister to be severely reprimanded. Ser Barristan and even a few Baratheon banner men felt this way as well. All Robert had done was look at them for a long time, blankness on his face. "It was no crime. Just the removal of dragonspawn." The fury that had escalated between the two friends had exploded. Ned rode to the South in cold fury to lift the siege and to deal with any other resistance. It had only been the following morning after peace was achieved that he had received the unknown raven on where his sister was being held. Eddard rode with Howland Reed – one of his closest friends beside Robert –, Lord William Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull and Ser Mark Ryswell.

As he approached the Tower of Joy by foot, what he saw momentarily confused him for a moment. Three members of the Kingsguard were standing outside the entrance of the tower, guarding it with their hands on the pommels of their swords. Ser Gerold Hightower, the legendary Lord-Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Oswell Whent and, it broke Eddard' heart, Ser Arthur Dayne – Ashara' Dayne's brother and Ned's secret love before the death of Brandon.

They stood silently as the seven walked towards them.

"I looked for you at the Trident," Ned said to them.

"We were not there." Ser Gerold answered. "Woe to the Usurper if we were."

"When King's landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword and I wondered where you were."

"Far away," Ser Gerold said, "or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells.

"I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege," Ned told them,

"And the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them."

"Our knees do not bend easily," said Ser Arthur Dayne.

"Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him." "Ser Willem is a good man and true," said Ser Oswell.

"But not of the Kingsguard," Ser Gerold pointed out. "The Kingsguard does not flee."

"Why were you not with the Prince though? He is according to Targaryen law the next king after Aerys. Shouldn't you be with the new king?"

"Viserys Targaryen is a good boy and a blessed child," Ser Oswell spoke proudly. "But he is not the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

That raised Ned's suspicions on what had come to be at the Tower.

"By the God's," William Dustin breathed.

"Are you saying that Lady Lyanna has had child?"

"A son who'll lead Westeros into a Golden Age and destroy the Stag and the Lions," Ser Arthur Dayne spoke with clarity as he donned his helm.

"I'm sorry Lord Stark, but we cannot allow you to pass." "We swore a vow," explained old Ser Gerold.

Ned's wraiths moved up beside him, with shadow swords in hand. They were seven against three. An unfair fight which would result in a strong shed of blood.

"And now it begins," said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as glass, alive with light.

"No," Ned said with sadness in his voice. He did not want it to come like this, but he had no choice. Poor Ashara. "Now it ends."

He unsheathed Ice and advanced on the Sword of the Morning. He brought down the greatsword to his armour and managed to cause a bad dent in the steel. Ser Arthur Dayne struck at the hilt of Ice and hit Ned with the blunt side of his sword. They both danced with live steel as the others came forward and joined their song. His companions fought the White Bull and Ser Oswell. Although managing to tire Ser Gerold, with one swift movement he struck out with his sword and stabbed Theo Wull through the chest with his sword while using his other hand to stop Martyn Cassel. Gerold pulled his sword out of Theo's body and with one swing sliced Martyn's head off. Ser Gerold brought his blade back to his side and was about to charge at Eddard until Ethan Glover made an upper-motion slash with sword and struck Ser Gerold in his back from the side. Ser Gerold jolted forward and Ser William Dustin pulled a dagger from his leather holdings and stuck the small blade in Ser Gerold' eye, blood squirting from him socket as he fell to the floor and passed into the next world.

Ser Oswell was paired with Mark Ryswell who was putting up a fair fight. Mark rained down blow after blow of steel, but Ser Oswell continued to deflect them. As Mark began to tire, Oswell Whent stepped to the side and brought his sword in a side-splitting act, cutting Ser Mark's stomach in half. As Mark gurgled in blood, Ser Oswell Whent raised sword to deliver the killing blow. It came to pass. Ethan Glover cried out in fury and ran at Ser Oswell, but Ser Oswell turned quickly enough to bury his sword through Ethan's chest.

Ned continued deflecting blows from Ser Arthur Dayne and was beginning to tire. Howland Reed and Ser William finished Ser Oswell by breaking his legs with their swords. They pushed him down on the floor and brought their blades to his head.

All that remained was the Sword of Morning. Ned jumped back and tried to gather his stance, but Ser Arthur continued to rush at him. Seeing this, William tried to intervene and before Ned could cry out, he ran head first at Dayne. Dayne spun around and moved to side, whilst crackling the side of Dawn against William's neck. William cried out in absolute pain until Ser Arthur kicked him in the stomach and pushed him forward. Ned ran forward to stop the kill, but Ser Arthur slashed his sword at Ser William's throat, a deep cut beginning to drip in blood.

The sound of steel meeting steel as Ned played his dance of sword again was almost enough to drown out the cry of despair of Lyanna from the Tower, which only forced Ned to swing his sword faster and with more anger, this man was preventing him from getting his sister. Ned had been drained from the prolonged fight however and felt his energy dissipate. Ser Arthur managed to force him to his knees with one quick strike of his sword, Ned looked at Ser Arthur, trying to lift his sword arm to bring the greatsword Ice up to block what would be the killing blow only to find Ser Arthur staggering back blood bursting from his throat, as Ser Arthur fell to the ground clutching his throat, Ned looked on in amazement. Howland Reed had buried his Frog spear deep into the Sword of the Morning's throat ending his life in the honour of battle.

Howland gave a pale hand and Ned took it, bringing himself up. Ned saw Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold's headless corpse's laid near Ser Gerold. Ser Arthur Dayne was at his feet, lying in a pool of blood similar to Aerys Targaryen. That thought made him feel sick, and reflect on how much this war had cost the lives of many great people. All the bad ones remained. Howland went on his toes and shook Ned's shoulders, shaking him out of his daze. "My lord quickly, your sister Lyanna, check if she is safe. I'll deal with the dead." Ned murmured his thanks and sprinted into the tower, needing no further encouragement. He ran up the flight of towers like the ghosts of the old were after him and burst into the first room he saw.

Lyanna Stark was lying on a bed with her body facing the door, looking at him in her cold, grey eyes with a mixture of happiness and sadness. She was wearing a long, blue blouse with traces of blood splattered on the material. Her long dark brown hair tumbled over her shoulders with a crown of blue roses on the top of her head. Cradled in her arms was a baby boy of at least a few weeks feeding at his sister's breast. Ned stood at the doorway for that time, taking in the scene with absolution and control

His legs took control of him as he came towards her bed and kneeled beside her. She gave him a small, weak smile tinged with despair. "Oh Ned, I am so sorry. I knew you would come and try and take me back home. By the gods, I had no idea all this would happen. Father, Brandon…all those people in King's landing. I am _so-so _sorry. Could you ever find it in your heart to forgive me even if I don't deserve it?" Ned only managed a slow and deliberate nod before his attention turned to her face. She didn't look hurt in anyway, expect for the known exhaustion and weariness after a hard…labour. Ned gaze turned towards the baby boy suckling in his sisters arms. Lyanna followed his gaze. "He looks like you." Lyanna offered quietly. He did indeed. The boy – his nephew – was a lean looking infant with a long face and wisps of dark brown hair common in all Starks. His face looked quiet and solemn, similar to how Ned had looked as a babe Rickard Stark had said. As Ned looked closely, the boy's eyes opened and he found himself looking into dark eyes the colour of purple. Ned's heart froze as he slowly looked back at Lyanna. She saw his expression and started to explain everything: The courting at Harrenhal, the willingness as Rhaegar had come to Winterfell in secret. "If you're thinking he raped me, he didn't," Lyanna said. "He didn't touch me at all in that way until I wanted it too." Being in Dorne and thousands of miles away from the war, Lyanna and Rhaegar had had no initial idea of the repercussions of their actions. But by then it had been too little too late. Lyanna and Rhaegar had been secretly married by a drunken septon and a royal persuasion on Rhaegar's part and with the help of some members of the Kingsguard Lyanna had been married a few weeks after she had arrived. By the time they had caught wind of Robert's Rebellion, Lyanna had been with child. She had almost jumped off through the tower window when new had come about what Aerys had done to her father and elder brother.

"What's his name?" Ned interrupted. Lyanna frowned. "What is your…child's name Lya? I would like to know the name of my nephew." "I haven't made a decision," Lyanna replied. "I had been hoping Rhaegar would have chosen, but he…" Lyanna then told him how her son had been born a roughly the same time Robert had killed Rhaegar at the Trident. "I think he would have wanted me to choose."

Ned was silent for a moment, thinking on all this. He stood up and walked to the window, deep in thought and watching Howland Reed clean the bodies of the dead with water and towels. "Who is that outside?" Lyanna asked. "Howland Reed." Ned noticed Lyanna's eyes lit up at the sound of her friend's name.

Ned came back to where Lyanna was resting and looked at his nephew thoughtfully. He had to talk to Lyanna about certain things. "Lya, if we are to go back to Winterfell, we're going to have a problem. Robert will still expect to marry you and make you his queen, regardless if your maidenhood is intact or not. If he finds out that you had a child of Rhaegar, your child's life will be in danger." "I will not marry him then," Lyanna narrowed her eyebrows. "I'm sorry Ned, but I will not marry the man who slew my husband and expects me to come to him begging to be his wife." "He never would-" "Please Ned, break the betrothal. I do not wish to marry if not now or even ever. I just want to be with my son. Promise me Ned. Promise me at least whatever happens to me you must look after my boy."

All Ned could do was nod grimly. The things that needed to be said could wait for another time at another place. They needed to get out of the area and somewhere safe. "We have much to discuss Lyanna, but for now we must get out of here." Lyanna nodded, but struggled to get out of her bed. "I've been bed-ridden for weeks sick with the news about what's been happening in the seven kingdoms," Lyanna told him. "I swear Ned by the old god's and the new this is my entire fault. Everyone is going to hate me when we enter the fray of Westeros again." Ned could not reply because in actuality she was right. He would not openly admit it of course, but he had often wondered time and again what would have happened if Lyanna had not gone with the Prince.

Soon, Howland arrived and greeted Lyanna with excitement. Ned asked him to help her while he took hold of her child. It seemed almost strange to Ned that this was the first time he had ever held a baby in his arms. It reminded him of his own trueborn son he had waiting at Riverrun with his newly-wed wife Cateyln Tully. Robb was his son's name: Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell and his firstborn. Eddard Stark looked down at the child in his arms and peered into his purple eyes. Besides his Valyrian features, the boy looked more Stark than anything else. Ned wondered if maybe, just maybe, if what he had formed in his mind could work… Robb would have a brother before he even saw his own father.

"My lord," Howland Reed was holding Lyanna with one arm around her shoulder and holding her tight. "A wet nurse is waiting outside the room. She calls herself Wylla says she has been here for the past few days. Do you wish for her to come in?" Ned looked at Lyanna who nodded back. "I know her. She was the one who help delivered my child. You can trust her." So it was that Lord Eddard Stark gave his nephew to a very pretty young woman who took the child away from him. Ned noticed that all this time, the child had been very quiet as if sensing the tension in the room. The child looked towards the direction of Ned, and glared at him straight in the eye. T was then Ned knew. "Jon." Ned said unexpectedly. Lyanna and Howland looked up with a quizzical look while Wylla stared at him. "What?" "Your son, name him Jon. His name comes from King Jon Stark of the North, as well as my foster father Jon Arryn as well as Jon Connington – one of Prince Rhaegar's closest friends. Jon of the House Targaryen and House Stark. Born of the ancient Valyrian's with the blood of the first men of the north." Lyanna's eyes widened in surprise but she merely lowered her gaze. "My son Jon," She was quiet then, probably collecting her thoughts.

As they came out of the entrance, Ned leaned on the wall of the tower looking of the dead, for a long time trying to think of what he was going to do to explain this to Robert, to Catelyn. He could not tell his friend the truth for all though it pained him to lie, Robert would want the babe dead and that was something Ned could not and would not allow. He did not doubt he would kill Robert if he tried. Eddard pulled stones from the tower to make cairns for the dead afterwards, Howland helping without a word for which Ned was grateful for. He needed time to collect his thoughts.

After Ned and Howland respected the dead, they made sure Lyanna was safely saddled with something to keep herself warm, as well as Wylla to allow Jon some comfort. "You are a good person Eddard Stark," Lyanna said as he helped her settle on her horse. "I hope you see your son and wife soon brother." Upon finishing his duties, Howland turned to him and said "Where are we to ride too, my lord?"

Ned merely looked at his friend before saying "Starfall." And so it was that Eddard Stark, Howland Reed, Lyanna Stark, Wylla and the babe whom Eddard named Jon rode for Starfall where Ned intended to give House Dayne their sword back and to inform them of Ser Arthur's death. However much he tried to keep the thought out of his mind, all Ned wanted right now was to see his son and wife whole again.

_**THANKS FOR READING. Sorry it sucks since I didn't really know how to start. Second chapter will focus on Ned at Starfall and telling Lyanna his plan to acknowledge Jon as his bastard with Ashara Dayne as well his first meeting with his son Robb. Third chapter and beyond will take place in A Game of Thrones events and beyond. **_


	2. Chapter 2

The road to Starfall was long yet strangely comforting to Ned Stark. As they travelled across the red sandy mountains of Dorne, the sky had grown dark with star glittering pale white in the moonlight. Ned rode alongside Lyanna as Howland watched over Jon as he slept in Wylla' arms. When asked, Wylla had told him that she had come from Starfall where she had worked for many years, by the request of Rhaegar Targaryen when he had learned of Lyanna's pregnancy.

Lyanna was silent of the road and her face was a grim and disquiet as his. She kept watch over her son from the side. The only subject they had discussed on the road had been Ned's new family and his child. "I hope your son Robb and Jon will be friends when they grow older. Maybe even brothers." Lya said. _Brothers. _Ned thought. Yes, brothers. That could and would work. Ned had formulated a plan of the road on how they would resolve the situation of Lyanna, Robert, Jon and the Iron Throne. He had only told Howland in private and even his friend felt queer around the idea as he did.

As the break of dawn, they arrived at the shores of the Torentine River, where the great white castle of Starfall stood high and proud. The river poured into the Summer Sea and it was supposed to guard the western arm of Dorne. As the party came to the grand gates of the castle, Ned asked the the Dayne guard for an audience with Lord Dayne. The guardsmen had chuffed at his request and puffed out their chest's to appear more assured. Ned did not like this arrogance they showed. "And who are you anyway to ask. We know you Lady Wylla and you are happily allowed back in the premise. We do not know you strangers."

Ned unsheathed Ice. The guards instantly placed the hands on the pommel of their swords, jittering nervously at the sight of the greatsword. "I am Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Accompanying me is my sister Lady Lyanna Stark as well as Lord Howland of House Reed. I suggest you let us in to speak with Lord Dayne to tell him that his son is dead and we bring back Dawn."

When they were eventually let in, Ned and Howland dismounted their horses and brought them deeper in the castle. Ned could see the magnificent Dornish tower of the Palestone Tower, a structure that resembled its name. When they came closer, a tall woman exited from the tower with five guards towards them. Even from the distance, Ned could recognise her anywhere. The long black hair that reached her breasts, the large, haunting violet eyes that made Ned feel complete again to his bitter shame.

"Ashara." Ned whispered. Lyanna looked at him with a questioning glance. "Ashara Dayne? Wasn't she the woman who you fell in love with and Brandon-" Ned shot his dearest sister a warning look made of pure ice which Lyanna chose to abide by.

His early love had always been a great beauty and though she still was, something was wrong with her. She looked older, more dignified and less graceful. She looked very exhausted and Ned saw she had gained weight, the same round belly that Lyanna seemed to have. The same-

_By the gods. She is pregnant. Pregnant with Brandon's bastard son. _It had been the only time where Ned had truly been furious with his older brother. He has dishonoured his love who he had hoped to ask her hand in marriage. He still would have even if she was no longer a virgin, even if her virtue was gone, but then Brandon and Father had died in King's Landing.

As Ashara and her men came closer, her eyes were filled with great sadness and trepidation, the same he felt inside. _She knows, _Ned thought sadly. _She knows that I married Catelyn Tully. I hope she understands. _

"Ned," Ashara said as they stood near each other, almost too close for comfort. "Please tell me that this is not true, that Arthur is dead and you have married-"

"Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of Morning, is dead. I bring the ancestral sword Dawn back to the home of House Dayne." Ned spoke formally and loudly, not trusting his own voice to cloud the things that he really felt. A flicker of hurt and shock ran through the beautiful face of Ashara Dayne, who took a step back. "Oh, Ned."

His sister glanced at Ned sadly. Wylla came forward with Jon in her arms and requested permission for all of them to go inside the castle. Ashara looked at the wet nurse favorably and granted her request. Her gaze turned to the babe in the nurse's arms."Wylla, is that your-" "No my lady. It's Lady Lyanna's child."

Ashara gasped and turned her head quickly towards Lya' direction. Lyanna stared back at Ashara, not letting go of her glare. "Lyanna, you and Rhaegar…"

"We'll explain this when we are inside, I promise Ashara," Ned said, hoping to break an unnecessary confrontation before it began. Lyanna looked at Ned with gratitude, grateful for not having to explain herself now. Ashara looked at Ned with blankness, and then turned to address her guards. "Men, ask the ladies to prepare rooms for Lord Stark and his sister, as well as Lord Howland. Nurse Wylla will take her former chambers. The baby shall be placed in the nursery."

After changing from his broken and dirty clothes into fine new ones, Ned was requested by a servant to see Lady Ashara in her room. He knew this would come where she wanted to see him. He was dreading everything. Sure enough, when Ned entered her room she launched herself from her bed and into his arms. "Sweet Ned, why?" Ned could not speak, only gripping his former love as tight as possible. Though they had never lain together, their love had been almost eternal until the rebellion.

"Did you…did you have a child?" Ashara looked down at her belly and gave a low cry that sounded like a middle ground of laughter and sorrow. "Your brother implanted a daughter inside me when I gave up my maidenhood to him in despair that you would not take me. The girl, your niece, she was…stillborn." Ned wondered when the god's would stop trying to take away everything that was dear to him: Brandon, Rickard, Ashara, and his niece. In another world, the babe would have been his.

"Ashara let me explain. Please, give me that much." And so Ned explained everything that happened prior to the fighting and during, also his necessary marriage with Cateyln. When he finished, Ashara breathed in deeply. "By the Seven Ned, this is terrible."

"I know," Ned said quietly. "I am fond of Catelyn and cannot wait to meet my son, but I still love you Ashara and I would never-" "Not that," Ashara laughed weakly and with not much enthusiasm. "I mean about Jon. If that monster you call a friend finds out about Lyanna's and Rhaegar's legitimate child, he'll kill him no matter what you do. I think that is something Lyanna _and _you would not allow."

Ned's eyes shone on how much she understood of the situation. It would make what he was about to say easier. "I have an idea, but you may not like it and it may absolve any honour Westeros will know of you and me. Make the old god's and the new forgive me." "What is it?" Ned told her of his plan. "I am going to call Jon my bastard son. He looks a great deal like me and could pass off with someone will a Stark parent. It will destroy everything dear inside and outside of my life. My honour will be questioned and humiliated and judged upon by men. But when family is called I must act and protect them even if it means sacrificing everything dear about me. Jon is of my blood and a Stark in all but name and eyes."

"You want to acknowledge Jon as your bastard son even if he isn't?" Ashara asked. "Sweet Ned, even if you do this, Rhaegar is so obviously within him. Those purple eyes the colour of Valyrians. How are you going to…oh?" Ashara took a step back and sat down on her bed in understanding. Ned came forward and sat down beside her, taking her gentle hand in his. "I am asking a great service from you Ashara Dayne, but could you pretend to be his mother as I pretend to be his father?"

Ashara was quiet for a moment before answering. "You ask a great deal from me Ned, but I accept your proposal. I will acknowledge the boy as my son as if he came from my loins. Although your wife…I don't think she'll like this." "I don't know if I should tell her or not for if she could this great secret, but this would give Robert not great cause to wonder about his parentage. We must develop a story before we talk to Lyanna about this." "Do you think she'll go along with it? Remember if you actually do this, then she cannot openly show any care to her own child other than in the form of an aunt."

So Ned and Ashara sat there in the white room talking and formulating the story. When they had found themselves confident, Ashara called in Wylla and told the wet nurse on what would be transpiring. Ashara asked Wylla to nurse Jon for now on the pretence that Ashara could not give any milk and to never reveal the truth. Wylla swore on the old god's and the new.

It had reached the evening when Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne walked arm in arm to the great hall where Lyanna, Howland Reed, Lord Dayne, Ashara's young sister Allyria and her older brother awaited for dinner. As Ned and she told them of their plan with the blessing of everyone in the room, Lyanna jumped from her seat and stood up, knocking a goblet of wine to the floor.

"I won't let you do this Ned. I understand that this is the only safe option, but to rid yourself of your honour to protect my own indiscretions? I'm not going to be responsible for any more heartbreak in our family." "Lyanna, this entire war of the usurper started because _you _ran off with Rhaegar without telling anyone," Howland said quietly. "You are already responsible for this. Lord Stark is trying to help" Lyanna's face flushed before speaking. "You know I cannot do this Ned. If you raise him as your bastard, he'll not get the proper treatment. Catelyn Tully will hate him for your supposed infidelity and he'll be known as the 'bastard of Winterfell'. A Snow, for the god's sake. Jon Snow the baseborn son of Ned Stark. I have an idea. Let my son and myself go hide somewhere in the Free Cities where-"

"Absolutely not!" Ned snapped. "You are a Stark of Winterfell and a daughter of the North. You are my sister and I will not have you go to a foreign place when your place is in Westeros." He turned to Lord Dayne. "My lord, do you consent to this plan even if it will cause dishonour on your daughter." Lord Dayne flinched, but did not look away from Eddard. "This is the only wise course of action. From what I can gather, Jon is a legitimate Targaryen and the rightful heir to the throne. His life will always be in danger if this plan is not used. I consent."

"Ned, please…" "No Lyanna. Please, I'm doing this for the sake of our family's safety. You will still look over your son but from a respectable and unquestionable standing. He'll be safe with me."

Lyanna growled in reply, but sat back down in defeat. The seven of them ate dinner in silence until Lord Dayne took his leave with his daughter Allyria. Lyanna immediately went next in the direction of the nursery, probably to spend time with Jon. "My lord, I'll go after her. Talk to her if I may." Howland said as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Go Howland Reed. You always had a way with her that father or I never did." Ashara's brother took his leave and bid Lord Eddard a farewell. This left Ned and Ashara alone.

"Well, goodnight my lady. I will speak with you tomorrow before we take our leave." Ned made to get up, but a strong hand gripped his arm and pulled him down. "Ned, I ask this one request that you can surely give me. Please, sleep beside me tonight." "No!" Ned skidded in his seat. "Absolutely not. I have a wife, a child Ashara. As much as I want to – it pains me to say that – I cannot." "God's Ned you are thick sometimes. I said _beside, _not with. Grant my request Ned. I just want to feel your arms around me like the before, at Harrenhal for the final time."

Ned granted her request. For that night, he lay beside his former love. He looked up at the cracked ceiling in the darkness as her head pressed against his chest and her arms around him. Ned twirled his fingers around her curls and for once in these horrible months felt truly happy.

The next day they left for Riverrun. Ned gave Ashara and promised to write to her as often as he could. Ashara would hold him on that promise which made him chuckle. It seemed Howland must been successful into getting Lyanna coerced into the situation as she spoke with Ned privately as their horses were saddled and their stock was supplied. "I'm sorry Ned. I'm sorry for not trusting your decision. It's just that…he's my son." "I know Lya," Ned reassured, giving her a deep hug. "I understand."

" I'm glad you're with me."

Howland swore on the old god's and the new that he would never tell a soul about Jon's true parentage.

Wylla was staying at Starfall to Ned's chagrin. Without her, Lyanna would have to feed Jon herself which would raise suspicion. She did not seem to mind however and kept a firm hold on his nephew. Jon was still a quiet boy himself and Ned had only heard him cry once. The pretense of him being Jon's father would work, he thought. With great reluctance, Eddard Stark and his companions left Starfall and Dorne

Ned briefly stopped at an inn and sent a raven in private to Robert and Jon Arryn in King's landing to tell them of Lyanna's survival and of his bastard son, hoping that telling them first would lower their suspicions. Lyanna fed her child quietly inside her room. The journey to Riverrun took three weeks on horseback. The castle was a strong three-sided structure, though not large. Ned knew the castle is bordered on two sides by rivers, while on the west a third side faces a massive man-made ditch. In time of danger the sluice gates could be opened to fill a wide moat and leave the castle surrounded on all three sides by water, turning Riverrun into an island and leaving it practically unassailable.

The castle has sandstone walls which rise sheer from the water, its battlements are crenelated and have arrow loops, and its towers commanded the opposite shores.

It was in the Keep that Ned saw his wife and son. Cateyln Tully (or Stark now she was) was a beautiful woman of seventeen with red-brown auburn hair and vivid blue eyes. She had high cheekbones and elegant features, as well as long fingers and a pretty smile. Ned heard Lyanna's breath intake at the sight of her sister-in-law. Ned had looked forward to this moment equal parts excitement and dread, excitement because he would be seeing his newborn son for the first time and dread because of the lie.

Cateyln came towards him with his son in her arms. "My lord husband, I am pleased to see you alive and well again. I am also happy to see your sister alive and well. Westeros is in much joy over this news from what I can gather from the ravens. I am happy to see you and your sister alive." Cateyln paused before she smiled.

"My lord, may I present to you your son." Ned took his boy in his arms and took in every detail of him. He was very happy with what he saw. Ned had wondered on the road what his son would look like. A Tully or Stark or a bit of both. His son, Robb Stark, has a small growth of red-brown hair that would one day grow to be thick as a mane and the same blue eyes as his mother. He was a beautiful boy, Ned thought, with a long face. He was a larger child than Jon and Ned knew he would one day grow to be powerful and a true son of the North.

He gurgled happily in Ned's arms. Ned bent down and kissed his son's forehead. Cateyln grinned but then turned towards to his sister and friend and frowned. Howland was holding Jon in his arms. Jon was distracting himself by tugging at Howland's inner tunic. Lyanna was smiling at Ned and waved at Robb, but tried not to look at Jon or Cateyln to betray any emotion. "Who is that child?"

Cateyln's voice was full of dry courtesy. Ned took a deep breath and said the lie he had been perfecting for what seemed to be all his life. "This is my son, Jon. He'll be leaving with us to Winterfell."

He expected Cateyln to react badly, but not like this. Her face turned red as scarlet and she took a look at Jon, realisation on her face. She turned to him and almost spat, "You intend to raise your bastard with your trueborn son? What is this madness, my lord?!" Ned knew he should not ever get angry, but what Cateyln said made him his soul ire and shameful of the lie. Lyanna stared at Cateyln, her face neutral yet with a sense of ferocity that Ned was afraid of. Ned felt himself get angered at her accusation and replied in a tone of iron. "Enough! Jon may not have my name, but he is of my blood and has the north inside him as does my trueborn son Robb. He is a Stark no matter what the laws say he must be." _A Targaryen for what it is all worth. _

"A Stark, a Snow, or _Sand _my lord?" Cateyln replied. So the news had spread across Westeros. _Good, _Ned thought. _This will make it much easier to handle. _"None of those my lady," Ned told her. "Let go of this. He'll be coming to Winterfell with us and my sister. Have you said your goodbyes and readied yourself my lady?" "Yes my husband," The words felt alien to Ned's ears. "Good. We'll ride to Winterfell immediately. Howland, could you give Jon to Lyanna to hold?" Howland gave him a quizzical look before handing Jon to Lyanna, whose face shone. Ned hoped Cateyln did not notice.

It had been a few hours after they left Riverrun that someone who Ned was not eager to meet had found them. Ned had been holding Robb with one arm while controlling his horse with the other, eager to spend time with his son and get to know him on a personal level. Cateyln was smiling at him as he played with Robb, but kept looking at Jon and Lyanna's direction. Both women had spoken little words with another and Ned could see why. Cateyln was full of courtesy and from what he noticed, kept her head in most of the time and was calm. Lyanna on the other hand was the wild she-wolf. The only thing they had talked about was Robb, who Lyanna seemed to like. Other than that, it was coolness.

Ned had told Lyanna before arriving at Riverrun to not do anything above the ordinary with Jon, to only keep it like when their aunties and uncles had visited. Lyanna seemed to be ignoring him as usual, muttering to Jon and playing with the boy. The babe cried happily every time she tickled him or nurtured him. Cateyln was starting to notice something, Ned could tell. He tried to open a conversation, but she politely refrained from talking with him.

Along the Kingsroad, Ned could see an inn where they could stop and rest for the night. He was about to stop his horse when suddenly a big, booming noise that seemed like thunder shouted at him from the behind. "Ned! Is that you?" _Why do the god's seek to punish me? _

Ned turned and held back his shock. Twenty men in chainmail rode in a diamond defensive shape. They wore helms shaped like antlers, and two were carrying the banners of a crowned stag on a yellow field: the sigil of House Baratheon. In the middle of the men was Ned's closest and dearest friend in the world, Robert Baratheon. He was wearing a crown of gold with antler shaped points. His thick black hair tumbled to his shoulders and his blue eyes shone with excitement. Robert was always a muscular man, but it seemed he had gotten a lot taller too after the months Ned had last seen him.

Robert rode fast to greet him and Ned had no choice but to go towards him. He handed Robb to Cateyln and steadied his horse to Robert. "Eddard Stark you bloody bastard! Why didn't you come back to King's Landing instead of sending a raven? Jon and I were worried about you for weeks. He told me not to come back up to the Riverlands, but I had to see for myself where my oldest friend had gone with my betrothed. Behind him, Lyanna flinched. Her back was towards Robert so he did not notice her at first.

"Robert-" "Don't speak Ned; it's good to see you. From the raven you sent you had your sister with you. Where is she?" It was then Lyanna Stark turned to face Robert Baratheon with Jon Snow in her arms. Her face was tightening with anger and trepidation. Robert mouth opened with surprise and happiness to see her, but his eyebrows narrowed when he saw Jon in Lya's arms. Ned could see the feelings conflict in Robert's eyes. It was confusion then anger mixed with an unholy feeling of fury, then another bout of confusion.

"Lya," Robert whispered her name, nudging his horse closer. Lyanna flinched when he said her name, but did not move away as he came. "Lya, sweet women what-what happened to you? What did fucking Rhaegar do to you? Did he rape you, that son of a dragon-whore?" Lyanna did not respond, she only held Jon tighter. Robert saw this movement and his eyes shone with anger. "Is that…is it…is that your, did Rhaegar implant that babe into you. Is it dragonspawn and-" "No your grace it isn't dragonspawn, not far from it Lord Baratheon," Lyanna spat icily. "He is-" "My son your grace," Ned interjected. He did not trust Lya to complete what she was about to say. "My natural born son, born a month after the sack," Robert lost focus of Lyanna and spun his head around to meet Ned's eyes, astonished.

"Your bastard son?" Robert asked. Ned nodded, hoping it appeared natural. If Robert didn't believe him now, then he did see how this would end well. Robert gazed off in the distance, and then looked back at Jon. "Yes, you wrote about him though didn't mention anything else. I almost thought you were joking. Honourable, justice and loyal Ned Stark surrendered his manhood for a full hour. I laughed thinking about how absurd it sounded. Clearly I was wrong." Clearly Robert did not see Cateyln's distorted face as the king spoke those words. "Then why does he have purple eyes?" "His mother was Ashara Dayne your grace," Ned explained.

Robert mouth opened with eyes full of understanding. "Lady Dayne? The girl who you were in love with before you brother fucked her?" Cateyln stifled a gasp and that was when Robert noticed her. "I'm so sorry I didn't see you. You must be Cateyln, my best friend's wife. I'm telling you right now you're in for something special. Best man I know in all the seven kingdoms. I remember Ned told me you've had a son." Cateyln merely nodded and almost thrust Robb towards Robert. Robert looked over Robb and murmured thoughtfully. "Look's more Tully than Stark, but I can see Ned in him." His attention went back to Lyanna. "Oh, I see. That's perfectly understandable but-"

"What," Lyanna jerked in her seat. "What would you have done if he was my son? Killed him, hired assassins or lions to do your dirty and then make yourself feel like a hero. I know what happened at the sack…and how you killed Rhaegar." "It was justice. He took you off and The Seven knows what-" "I loved him!" Lyanna almost yelled. Robert shook in his seat, caught by surprise. Ned was silent. "You thought I was kidnapped. I wasn't, I went along with him willingly. It was Father, Brandon and you who actually couldn't think with your mind have and put two-and-two together. Remember Harrenhal, your grace?"

"Want to forget." Robert gritted his teeth, similar to how his younger brother Stannis did when he got angry. "When he placed the crown on my lap, I didn't question him. I _wanted _him too. I didn't know it would start a war, but I loved him and wanted to spend my life with him. Not you Robert. You – a drunken, whoring man who thinks his manhood and charm can solve everything. I don't love you; I don't even know I like you that well."

It almost hurt to see the look on Robert's face as he registered what Lyanna was saying. "You loved him?!" Robert exasperated. "Now he finally gets it. Took you long enough, what? Two years?" "We were all concerned about you Lya," Robert was angry, his fists shaking. "When you…left with _him, _we all thought you were kidnapped. You did not leave a note or anything. Your actions caused your father, brother, many people to die. The only good thing that came out of this rebellion was the death of the Targaryens."

Lyanna almost took off her horse and slapped him, but Ned gripped her arm and gestured at Jon. Lyanna looked at her body and her expression softened. "I don't have to talk to you about anything, King Robert." To Ned she said. "Tell our king that from here our betrothal is ended. I want nothing to do with him and his whoring ways. Let him find someone else to get inside every night and be the dutiful wife. I'm not." She flicked the reins of horse with one hand and looked to Howland, who had been watching in silence. "Howland, you and I will be going to Winterfell. Cateyln, come with us with Robb. Ned can stay here and talk with his big lump of a friend." Howland looked at Ned in desperation as Lyanna rode in the direction of the north. Ned sighed and nodded at him to follow. Howland bowed low in his saddle to Robert before taking his horse to follow a quickening Lyanna. "May I go my lord as well," Cateyln asked. "Of course. When you arrive at Winterfell, make sure to check with Maester Luwin and he'll give you a brief guide to Winterfell. I'll come as soon as I can." Ned could give nothing more. With a short, brisk bow to Robert and a slow smile at Ned, Cateyln followed Howland with his son.

Ned made his horse stand beside Robert as he watched them go. "Robert, I-" "Save it Ned," It hurt Ned to see his jolly friend so quiet, so timid. So unlike him that it was scary. "Lyanna…she hates me." Ned didn't respond because he Robert knew the answer. Robert looked across the Kingsroad into the overgrown bush surrounding the openness of the road.

"I thought when we won the throne, I would marry Lyanna and we would live happily ever after. It seemed I was wrong. I'm a terrible person. For that horrible moment, I thought your son was Lyanna's. I can only imagine what I would have done. I _am _a monster. "Robert, you are not-" "Eddard, I expect you back in King's Landing in three months for my coronation," Robert took control of his horse and made it go the direction of his men. "This doesn't placate my hate for Rhaegar Targaryen. For the rest of my life, I will dream about him every night as I sleep and revel in the memory of killing him. Taking my love away from me like I was peasant. I showed that bloody dragon-demon. I showed him. I demonstrated to him the stag was better than dragon."

"Please, Robert. About Lyanna, I could still continue the betrothal if you want." For a moment, Ned saw hope shimmer faintly in his best friend's eyes. It disappeared just a quickly. "No Ned, I don't deserve women like Lyanna Stark. As much as I want to, as much as I feel I need her, she has been tamed by the dragon. I may have won this rebellion, but the Targaryens have taken everything from me. My mother, father, my friends, Lyanna." And with that, King Robert Baratheon waved a farewell to Eddard Stark and rode quickly down back in the direction of the Crownlands. Ned watched his friend leave in sadness, and then went to follow his sister, friend, wife, nephew and son back to Winterfell.

After that a month passes by were Ned and Catelyn are respectful to each other but nothing more and Ned wondered if perhaps their marriage will ever be happy. One night Catelyn enters his chambers at night after Robb and Jon have been put to bed, and Ned finds himself staring at her in surprise. She did not come in this early. "Have I displeased you?" Catelyn asked suddenly.

"Whatever do you mean my lady?" Ned asked in confusion. "You do not visit my chambers as often during the first week." Ned is found himself almost speechless. "No my lady, it's just that I thought that perhaps you would not want, that you would not want to lie with me as I have proven myself like any man. Thought honestly, I would rather you spend your nights we me instead of separately."

Catelyn laughed nervously before replying "You don't have to prove anything my lord. I have seen the good man you are. You gave your little brother Benjen comfort as he dealt with the death of Rickard and Brandon Stark. You gave him leave to journey the north and clear his head. Your sister Lyanna you made sure she was settled back into Winterfell, making sure she wasn't judging and not doing so yourself. You broke the betrothal between your sister and your best friend to ensure peace. Please my lord, make love to me before people start talking and give me another child."

Ned and Catelyn made love passionately and furiously after a few short minutes. Afterwards when they are both pleasured and were trying to calm their breathing. It seemed like the rust inside him would not be abided. Her naked body pressed against him as he twirled a stand of her heard without notice.

"Is Ashara Dayne truly Jon's mother my lord?" He knew this question would come up eventually, thought it caught him in a wrong time. It is the first time she had ever mentioned Jon since she arrived at Winterfell. "Did you tell Robert the truth? Are the rumours true?"

Ned was silent for a moment, thinking about everything that has happened to his family over the past two-and-a half years, the death and the tragedy, and the vows he had made of on the night of their wedding. She thought he had broken them. Honourable, thoughtful, unbroken Ned Stark. That's what everyone thought. Telling Cateyln the truth would break his own vow with Wylla, Lyanna, Howland (who had returned back to Greywater Watch) and himself. Surely however, the secret that he kept in his heart would break him. He had not even told Benjen, his only remaining brother.

If Cateyln and Robb where caught in this lie, then they would be caught in the fire. But looking into his wife's eyes, Eddard Stark knew he needed more support, to make Jon feel welcome and to ensure his safe wellbeing without distress. His life was important, sadly, much more than himself or his son. "What I am about to tell you must not leave this room, no one else can ever know or it would mean our lives. Do I have your promise my lady?" Cateyln nodded her head, confusion echoing in her eyes. Ned took a deep breath and spoke.

"Ashara Dayne is not Jon Snow's mother, though before marrying you I did love her. Jon…is not from my blood. He is not my son." There was a pregnant pause. "By the seven," Cateyln eyes widened. "Is Lyanna...?" Ned looked at her for a moment, wondering how she could guess that quickly. "I suspected my lord. The way she talks, walks and acts around Jon. It is more than as an aunt. It's like I am with Robb. Does that mean that his father is Prince Rhaegar?" "Yes Rhaegar Targaryen is Jon's father; he and my sister ran away together. According to law, he is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne through marriage documents that I keep that Howland Reed keeps in his possession. Jon is my nephew and Robb's cousin by blood.

"I promised her I'd keep him safe, Cateyln. She can't openly look after him so I have to. I hope you can understand the risk's I'm taking, how much of my honour I'm sacrificing to enable my nephew a better chance at life. Robert would have demanded for his death even if it was Lya. No matter if he stills loves her when marrying Cersei Lannister."

Cateyln was ominously quiet for what seems like a century. She finally opened her mouth and said, "Did you acknowledge him as your bastard to draw attention away from Robert and the Lannisters? People already think he is your bastard and has nothing to do with Lyanna. That is smart thinking my lord. Robert will think he's secure. I must say, Jon has the most beautiful purple eyes. That was it my lord, those eyes gave it away. I have seen Ashara Dayne and her eyes are violet, not dark lilac. Jon Snow is your son and mine as well if you would allow me to."

Ned breathed in a sigh of relief. "Of course Cateyln. But please, call me Ned. We will be spending the rest of our lives together." Cateyln laughed and snuggled closer to him.

Ned did not know what this would mean in the future, but he knew one thing: Jon would have a full family to look after him. He would never know Rhaegar Targaryen as a father. He would never know Lyanna as his true mother until the right time. He would need Cateyln was his mother to nurture and treasure him, to give the boy comfort. He would need Robb to be a brother to him. Jon would need a father, something that Ned would be happy to oblige. After all, what was family for?

_**Thanks for reading and sorry if this is long. If it doesn't seem interesting, it's just that A) I'm getting into the beef of the story and B) I have only little experience on writing fully fledged out stories. Lyanna being alive will play into some moments that'll happen in Jon's future. Jon's purple eyes will come in when proving in the future that he is a Targaryen. And sorry if you thought I missed out on the marriage documents, I was going to explain that on a later date with a Lyanna or Howland chapter. Next chapter will have multiple POV's in one chapter as well as being set in modern AGOT times. Please review and give me suggestions. I have a plan, but it may change depending on what you guys want to see. Sorry if the formatting and dialogue location is a bit off. I'm using a different software so it makes things more conjoined. **_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Some of the dialogue is taken from the books and the show. I though both had equally strong writing (though books are more superior). Sorry if not much happens in this chapter. I was trying to set up what some relationships looked like. . Please review because it keeps me inspired to write more. I aged up some of the characters like I said before. Actually, everyone was born a year earlier. So Jon is fifteen, Bran is eight and Arya is ten. **_

**BRAN**

**298 AL – The North**

The morning was clear and cold as Brandon Stark rode with his father, his brothers Robb and Jon and Winterfell ward Theon Greyjoy to witness the execution of a deserter of the Night's Watch. The man was old and scrawny, not much taller than Robb. He has no ears and one finger was missing, both probably lost to the frostbite. He was dressed in all back as was a brother of the Night's Watch.

If it had been his mother's way, Bran would not have gone to watch father do the king's justice. "Eight is too young to see such things," Cateyln had argued.

"He won't be a boy forever," Father had replied. "And Winter is coming."

Bran was riding on a small pony which honestly could not keep himself straight. He was afraid that it might collapse under its knees and toss him over.

Robb and Jon sat still on their horses, with Bran in the middle trying to look brave. Arya was next to Jon, nearly bopping on the seat of her pony in anxiousness. The only reason why Arya had even been allowed to come was because of their aunt Lyanna. "Arya needs to see these things, to help her mature more," Bran's aunt had told Father. "She's not your ordinary girl, not like Sansa." As they led the man out, Bran's father dismounted and walked solemnly towards the old man. Eddard Stark had long brown hair that stirred in the wind and grey eyes with such coldness they reflected his mood distinctly. He was not a particularly large man and his face was grim.

They dragged the man to the ironwood stump in the centre of the square. Bran, Robb, Jon and Arya nudged their horses closer to see what their lord father was saying. The deserter kept on saying the same sentence as they pushed him onto his knees.

"White Walkers, White Walkers, White Walkers."

He was breathing heavily and only managed to look up as Lord Eddard Stark stared down at him.

"I am a deserter I know. I know that I broke my holy oath. I should have returned back to the Wall and warned them – but I saw what I saw: The others, those white walkers. They were tall, gaunt and looked hard as bones, and their flesh pale as milk. The armour they had…by the gods seemed to change colour as it fought. It was white as fallen snow and black as a shadow. The patterns around them ran like moonlight on the water with every step they took.

"The weapon they used, I never saw anything like it. It didn't seem human, almost translucent, and sharp and thin as crystal. You need to warn everyone Lord Stark. You need to tell them that they're coming to get us. If you don't, everyone's dead and nothing will be in peace. They'll taint the world with their dead. They killed Will and Ser Waymar."

Bran looked back at his father whose face wore blankness and ice. After a few long seconds, they forced the man's on the hard black wood. Theon Greyjoy brought forth the Stark ancestral greatsword Ice, as wide a man's hand and very tall, made of Valyrian Steel forged with spells to keep it perfect and sharp as a razor.

His father took hold of Ice with both hands and said,

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of-"

As Lord Stark continued, Jon Snow moved closer and put a cold hand on Bran's shoulder. "Don't look away. Father will know if you." Bran turned his head face his half-brother and gave a smile he hoped had no nervousness.

"-I do sentence you to die." He lifted the greatsword high above his head and removed the man's head with a single stroke. Blood sprayed along the snow but Bran could not take his gaze away.

Arya gave a little yelp, but did not react as badly as anyone expected. The head rolled towards Theon's feet. He laughed and kicked it away. Theon Greyjoy was a lean, dark handsome youth of twenty who found everything funny not matter how dark or gruesome it was.

"You did well Bran. Robb, Father and I are proud of you." Jon smiled. Bran could see Robb was giving Arya a similar conversation though he seemed more cheerful and less solemn. Bran didn't mind though, he loved his bastard brother with all his heart and didn't care how his mood was. Jon and Arya were more or less the same. They were always happy at Winterfell, but alone they were quiet and thoughtful. Unlike Bran, Arya looked more curious than shaken and appeared to be prodding Robb for answers for questions she had.

On their ride back to Winterfell, Bran's pony struggled to keep up with the main party. Robb and Jon slowed down their horses to ride along with him. Arya was talking Father while Theon was having a hearting conversation with Ser Jory.

"Even for a deserter, he did bravely. His story of the White Walkers was so convincing that I almost believed it." Robb said. Robb was a stocky, big and broad shouldered, very handsome fifteen year old who like Bran, Sansa and Rickon, took after their mother will long and thick red-brown hair and blue eyes of House Tully. The only thing he relatively had that signified his look of a northerner was his long face.

"Is it crazy to believe that I-I believe him? I mean, it sounded strange and a little insane, but the man was truly terrified. You could see it in his eyes that fear. To me, he sounded completely genuine." Jon Snow said, scratching his cheek where the brown stubble that spread from cheek to cheek was growing. Except for Arya, Jon looked the most like his lord father Eddard Stark. He had thick dark brown hair that fell to his eyes and a long face.

Unlike Robb, Jon was slender and dark. While Robb was quick, graceful and fair, Bran's half-brother was strong and fast. The only thing that made Jon different from anyone else in the party was his eyes. Jon's were very beautiful shade of purple, a colour of dark lilac that Bran had seen make women blush a deep crimson if Jon happened to look their way. He did not understand and it had made his mother laugh nervously when he had asked why.

Bran always enjoyed watching Robb and Jon spar in the courtyard whenever he wasn't at his lessons. Robb was muscular so every weapon he used was mostly heavy and could inflict permanent damage. Jon to his credit was an excellent swordsman, particularly with a longsword or the bastard sword. He remembered a joke Robb had said half-heartily after a long day where his half-brother had beaten him with the bastard sword, a joke that Bran vaguely recalled had something to do on how they were both linked.

Robb and Jon had decided to race to the bridge and Bran didn't bother to catch up to them. He was deep in his thoughts about the man and his ramblings that he didn't notice Arya and father moving up to ride with him. Arya gave him a small shove and he shook his head. "Are you OK little brother?" Arya asked. Arya Stark, according to father and mother, looked like his aunt Lyanna when she was young. Bran had compared the two and had found it hard to believe. For a start, Aunt Lyanna was a very beautiful woman where Arya was almost plain with marginally pretty features. She had messy long dark brown hair and sullen grey eyes. He could see similarities in personality however. They were both wild and carefree and according to Father, should have been born as boys.

"First of all Arya, there is only two year age gap between us and second-" "Are you unwell Brandon Stark." Father asked, not unkindly. "Yes, Father," Brandon told him. "Do you know why I did it?" "Robb and Jon say he was a deserter." "But do you understand why _I _had to take his life." Bran had no answer for that. "The southerners have headsman." He was uncertain. "They do," Eddard Stark admitted. "But the blood of the First Men still runs deeply in our veins Bran. The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword. You have to look the man in the eye and hear his final words." Bran nodded, understanding. "Our way is the old way." Ned Stark nodded proudly at his son.

It was then Jon appeared reappeared on the crest of hill before them. "Father, Bran, Theon, come quickly, look what we've found." "This should be good," Arya said, making her pony quicken. They found Robb and Jon on the riverbank north of the bridge, Jon mounted and Robb knee-deep in the snow holding something in his hand. Bran looked closely and a tiny head came out from his arms. Bran gasped. It was the head of a wolf. They picked their way carefully to the drift where Jon and Robb where standing. Theon was laughing but then he caught sight of something and went to his sword. "Get away from it Robb." Ser Jory called. "Don't worry," Robb grinned. "It's dead." As they got closer, Bran jumped off his horse and ran to where his brothers were. Arya had got their faster and nearly pushed him over as she ran past hm.

Bran was afire with curiosity and when he found what they were looking at; his heart was thumping at his side. Half buried in the snow was the biggest hound he had ever seen, twice the size of the dogs in his father's kennel and bigger than his pony. Unfournately, it was already crawling with maggots. "It's a direwolf." Jon said finally. Bran's eyes tore away from the direwolf to Robb's arms. Arya immediately tried to get closer, but Robb stopped her. Bran gave a cry of delight when he saw a tiny ball of grey-black fur of a pup in his brother's hands, muzzling at Robb's chest with its eyes closed. Bran stroked the direwolf before Jon put a second pup in his arms. "Here you go Bran," Jon said, smiling. "There are five of them." Bran hugged the wolf, who had soft and warm fur against his cheek. "And you Arya," Jon turned to his sister and handed her a grey and white direwolf that's fur was all messed, just like Arya herself. "He's strong." Arya said. "I think it's a girl little sister." Robb said, patting her on the back. Arya raised an eyebrow and inspected her direwolf in her arms.

"Direwolves south of the wall after all these centuries," Ser Rodrik muttered.

"This is not a good." "It is a sign," Ser Jory said. "A dead animal more like it." Theon said.

Snow crunched under Lord Stark's boots as he moved towards the monster. "Looks like a stag killed her." Father knelt and yanked the wolf's head and held it up for all to see: a foot of a shattered antler all wet with blood.

"The direwolf, the sigil of House Stark – dead by a stag, the sigil of House Baratheon," Harwin, son of Hullen the master of the dogs, murmured. A silence descended on the group. The men looked at each uneasily. Bran did not understand. "Are you saying there could be-" Father shot Jon a warning look. Jon stopped midsentence.

"I don't understand," Arya said. "I thought we were friends with the King Robert." Father looked at Arya and she took a leaf out of Jon's book.

"Their better off dead, without a mother to look after them," Lord Eddard said finally. Bran gave a cry of dismay. Theon Greyjoy drew his dagger. "Better dead than this. Right, give it here Bran." The little wolf squirmed in his arms.

"No!" Bran cried out.

"Put away your blade." Robb said in a commanding voice similar to their father.

"I take order from your father, not you."

"Better a clean death than a hard one filled with cold and starvation." Lord Stark said grimly. "Father, no. You know we won't forgive you if you do this. We can look after them ourselves." Arya practically screeched the words, holding her wolf tightly and refusing the budge as Harwin tried to take her wolf off her.

"Please father." Bran practically almost begged, refusing to cry in front of his father. "I'm sorry Bran, it's the only way." Lord Eddard turned to Theon.

"Lord Stark, father." Jon suddenly said, coming out of his silence. Bran spun to look at his brother, hope forming at the edge of his throat. "There are five pups. Three males, two females."

"What of that, Jon?"

"You have five trueborn children from Lady Cateyln," Jon explained. "Three males – Robb, Bran and Rickon – and two females: Sansa and Arya. The direwolf is the sigil of House Stark. My brothers and sisters were meant to have them. It is as Ser Jory said: a sign of blessing from the old gods and the new. You cannot ignore this calling, Father."

Bran understood that Jon had omitted himself from the count and this had made it right. He loved his brother will all his heart at that moment. Bran saw his father's set face change, exchanging looks with the other men. It seemed he understood what Jon had implied. "You don't want a pup for yourself, Jon?" he asked softly.

Jon smiled and gestured to the bundle of wolves in his arms.

"My lord, Lady Cateyln and yourself have always made me feel welcome in Winterfell and you both have treated me as your own trueborn son even if I wear the name of Snow. I consider you both my parents no matter if Lady Ashara Dayne is my mother. I have always felt myself an equal to my brothers and sisters, but not in this aspect. The direwolf is the sigil on your banners," Jon pointed out. "Though everyone may think different, I am not a Stark."

"Bran, Arya and me will nurse them ourselves Father," Robb promised after a uneasy silence. "We will personally soak a towel with warm milk and give our wolves to suck on." "Sansa will definitely do it as well," Arya was looking at Jon with great pride and happiness. "Rickon is too young, but we'll help him as well." Bran agreed with Arya's readiness.

Lord Stark weighed his sons and daughter long and carefully with his cold, grey eyes of the North. "You'll feed them yourselves, you'll train them yourselves. And if they die so the god's help it, you'll bury them yourselves. I will not have you wasting any one the Winterfell servants on these beasts. Am I to be understood?" Bran nodded eagerly along with Arya.

"Aunt Lyanna will be so pleased," Arya said, gazing at her wolf. "She was always fascinated with direwolves." "More than fascination Arya," Jon said grinning with a little sadness. Bran wondered if he was jealous that he would not get one. If so, Jon was good at concealing his emotions. "Our good aunt will try to steal yours the minute you show them to her."

Robb laughed as well did Lord Eddard, but he looked at Jon with a sadness which Bran did not understand

"Keep them then. Jory and Desmond, gather the other two. It's about time we went to Winterfell." The wolf was snuggled in his leathers by the time they had mounted their horses and Bran smiled, wondering what to name him. Halfway across the bridge, Jon stopped suddenly, swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge where the dead direwolf was.

"Jon, what is it?" Robb called out. "I think I heard something," Jon yelled. Bran could hear nothing. Bran watched him dismount and kneel. A moment later, he was riding back smiling brightly.

"What is it?" Father asked. "This, father." Jon said, showing his find. Bran looked at the sixth pup whose appearance looked drastically different from the rest of his siblings.

Where the rest of the litter grey, his fur was white and his eyes were as red as blood. He was not blind like the rest of the others. "An albino," Theon said.

"Remarkable coincidence," Robb said. "Yeah! Jon gets his own direwolf. Now all of us are equal." "That one's yours Snow." Theon said, laughing. "I have to agree with you on that one Theon Greyjoy." Jon said, giving him a warm, chilling look of friendlessness. Bran looked at his father giving his bastard son a look filled with pride and relief.

Jon

**298 AL - Winterfell**

Back at Winterfell, Jon led Ghost through the corridors of the great fortress of Winterfell.

The castle was a huge complex spanning several acres, consisting of two massive walls and the 'winter village' below.

Winterfell itself had been built around an ancient godswood and over ancient hot springs that made the castle a more comfortable place in the harsh north. Inside the walls, the complex was composed of dozens of courtyards and small open spaces. Weapons training and practice took place in those yards. The inner ward was a second, much older open space in the castle where archery practice took place. It was located next to the broken tower. Inside Winterfell stood the Inner Castle, which contained the Great Keep and the Great Hall.

Jon had just come back from doing his chores for Lady Catelyn. His first task had been to clean the stables and help Hullen groom the horses. He had also checked on his own personal steed: Redtail. It wasn't a mighty name as he had named the horse at ten, but he was proud of Redtail, a black-and-grey horse with a red streaked tail whipped around his back.

The second job that Jon had done was for an hour help Maester Luwin assorting different books and collections through the ancient Winterfell library. This task was more of a personal preference that a necessity as Robb or Theon thought. He greatly enjoyed reading the ancient books of history, fiction and songs as well as reading about arithmetic and tried to come to the library often when he wasn't with Robb, Theon, Arya, Bran or his aunt. Jon guessed he probably got his love from reading and numbers from his mother. Eddard Stark shared no great joy as he did.

His favourite book in the entire collection was _The History of Westeros from the Dawn Age to the Baratheon Dynasty by Maester Ollothon. _A great three thousand word monster to fight, but easier to tame than it looked once the proper formula was done. Jon had finally just finished his third chore which was collecting fruits and vegetables from the glass garden for dinner. Ghost had been faithfully following him and even helping him at stages, and had held his basket with his mouth as he picked the vegetables from the overgrown ground.

After giving the basket to the cook, Jon had found Lady Cateyln near the raven's post reading a broken letter, a concerned look visible on her face. Jon loved his stepmother dearly. She was very kind to him even if she hadn't needed to be. He was her husband's bastard, a proof that he had been unfaithful to her and broken the sacred vows of marriage. She alongside his father always treated him as if he was a part of the family and his status as a Snow did not matter. A strong, generous and proud woman, Jon always wished that she had been his trueborn mother instead of Ashara Dayne. He barely knew that women who resided in Dorne, who had only wrote a few letters to him which did not evoke any proper emotion.

Jon quietly told her he had finished his chores, bringing her out of her concentration. She smiled at him and ruffled his brown hair, a habit she had continued with Bran and himself even though he was fifteen.

"Thank you Jon. At least Robb and you actually do your chores properly. Not like Arya, Sansa or Bran, who prefer to go about their own business instead of their responsibility." She seemed tired and after taking her eyes off the letter, a little distracted.

"Is something wrong my lady?" "No, Jon," Cateyln replied, gesturing to the letter in her hand."We have just received a raven from King's Landing, a message personally wrote by King Robert."

Jon frowned. It was very strange and curious that they received a message from the capitol, as they only occasionally did. The last time had been congratulating Lord Stark on the birth of Rickon, but that had been written by the Hand of the King, the man Jon had been named after. The matter must be very important.

"Has something happened to the King?"

"In a sense," Cateyln said, not a straight answer. "I'm sorry Jon, but I have to take this message to your father. What are you going to do know? Go train with Robb or play with Arya and Bran?"

Jon shook his head. "Perhaps later. I was actually hoping to go visit Aunt Lyanna for a time."

The same expression that Lady Cateyln always had when he mentioned his daily visits came the same as his father: a sad expression mixed with a strange sense of understanding, sympathy and pity tinged with guilt. Jon did not understand.

"I see. Well, tell your aunt to I said hello and also come to the great hall in a few hours, with you as well. We would like to talk to all of you about important matters." _About what? _Jon wondered. He did not say anything, but merely nodded.

Cateyln smiled at him and walked passed him in hurried steps. Jon watched her turn the corner before calling Ghost with a click of his tongue to follow him. It had been a technique Robb and he had been working ih their direwolves which had seemed to work, but was tricky if they were in close proximity to each other. Jon came to the keep and walked through the great, cold corridors to where the Stark families and his chambers were situated. A serving girl passed him and blushed as he gave her a smile. Robb would have known what to say, he was better at being more accommodating than he was.

He found himself nearing his aunt's chambers and was about to knock on the granite door when he heard a soft noise playing through the doors. At first, Jon thought his aunt was talking with someone but then realised that she was singing. Lyanna Stark had a beautiful voice, Jon recalled, a low melodically sounding voice that was in perfect conjunction to whatever she sang from. He remembered a song she had sung to him in private when he was six, a song filled with lust, betrayal and redemption. He could not hear the words properly and so opened the door ever so slightly to peek through. He gripped Ghost's neck to keep him from making a sound. His aunt was sitting on her bed looking through the tinted window. Sung poured across her face as she sung and her long, dark brown hair sat straight around her shoulders. She was wearing a linen gown woven with sleeves, the colour of grey.

Jon did not recognise the song she was saying, but then realised to his stupidity that it was actually a poem;

_If you said you were cold. _

_I would wrap my arms around you. _

_If you said you were thirsty I would give you the ocean blue._

_I would give you anything the moon, the stars, the sunset too. ..._

Ghost nudged him in the leg, making the door creak open. Lyanna turned her head in his direction and instantly smiled with such affection towards him that it made Jon's heart ache. "Jon, it is very nice to see you. I see you brought your direwolf. He's a strong looking wolf, though I would prefer Arya's." Ghost growled at that, but it was playful and he walked closer to Lyanna. His aunt bent down and scratched Ghost behind the ear. In the few short hours since they had shown the direwolves to all of Winterfell, Lyanna Stark had grown exceptionally close with the wolves as Jon had expected.

"Aunt Lyanna," There, Jon could see the slight pain that came to her eyes as he said those words. He still could not understand why even when he asked her. She would not answer. "Why aren't you outside? Surely you would be practicing horse riding or archery at this time." Lyanna smiled. "No, Jon. Sorry, I've been feeling a little drowsy and a massive headache storming in. I hope it clears." "Are you OK aunt Lyanna?" Jon asked, his voice dripping with concern. "Do you require assistance?" Lyanna laughed a good sound. "No Jon. I'm fine though I really appreciate your concern and attention."

From what he could remember, there had always been three central parental figures in Jon's life: Lord Eddard Stark, Lady Cateyln and Aunt Lyanna. Lyanna was the wild and appreciative, the one who Jon felt out of everyone really understood who he was and made him feel whole. That was why he always tried to spend enough time with her as he could without making his half-siblings jealous. "Hey, we want to be without aunt as well Jon. You can't take up all her time." Robb had joked once.

Jon had grinned sheepishly. Normally, Jon would come into her room for at least thirty minutes just talking about life in Winterfell and advice. Lyanna was good at listening, though a little self-explained weak at offering sound advice.

"Lyanna," Jon began. Lyanna suddenly came closer to him and pulled him towards her, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him so tight that Jon almost could not breathe. Jon could smell a scent of jasmine on her, as well as the nice smell of the blue roses that grew in Winterfell. "I have waited so long to do this Jon," Lyanna whispered in his ear. "Just to hug you close and stay like this for a while. I have watched always from a respectable distance as my brother and sister-in-law has put in their affections for you. But there's could never be the same as the ones I share with you, my sweet boy." "Aunt, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Lyanna sighed and almost reluctantly let him go. Jon smoothed out the creases on his grey coat and looked up at his aunt. "Of course you wouldn't. The world has forced us to live this lie. I sounded almost like your mother." What his aunt had just done was so random and sudden that Jon could not comprehend fully what had happened. It had seemed so motherly, more than he had expected. Jon almost had forgotten his direwolf was in the room, but felt him underneath his legs, looking up at him with big red eyes. "You know, I don't understand why your wolf is different from your siblings," Lyanna said.

"Maybe because I'm different from the rest as well. After all, I am a bastard." Jon said wryly.

"You're not a bastard Jon. Even though your birth may have been…different and from a different mother, you still a son of Lord Eddard Stark and a child of the North. Never forget that. No, something is definitely odd about this. As Ser Jory said, it could be a sign." "How do you know about that?" "I listen, Jon."

Jon nodded and smiled. "Aunt, before you hugged me, I was going ask you about that poem you were reading. Who wrote that?" She stared into his face with temperance. "The one I was reading before you so rudely interrupted me with your wolf?"

"Yes," he said, grinning. "That one."

Lyanna hesitated, but then took out a small sheet that resembled parchment from the top her bed. "It was composed when I was sixteen, Jon – by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."

Outside the room, Jon heard a sharp intake and the cracking of footsteps running down the hall. Lyanna gave a short gasp and reached for her knife she kept near her pillow. "Was someone spying-" Jon walked to the door and searched. On the right, the saw a medium looking man cut the corner. Thick reddish hair bounced behind him so Jon could not see his face. The man seemed strange and for a brief moment, Jon thought it was his brother Robb.

**Cateyln****  
**

**298 AL – The Winterfell Godswood **

Whenever Eddard Stark had taken a life no matter what the crime, Cateyln Stark knew she would find in the dark, primal godswood. An old forest of three acres untouched – it smelled of moist earth and decay. Thick black trunks crowed close together while twisted braches wove a dense canopy overhead and misshapen roots wrestled beneath the soil. The godswood was the ideal place for her husband, who would prefer the quiet of brooding shadows. Even if Cateyln did not personally like this forest, she had to respect it for giving her husband a clear head.

Cateyln found her husband beneath the great weirwood tree seated on the moss-coloured stone. The greatsword Ice lay on his lap as he cleansed it with the waters as dark as the night.

"Ned," she called gently.

He lifted his head to look at her with those cold yet strangely comforting grey eyes.

"Cateyln," he said. His voice seemed off and distracted, as well as distant and formal. "Where are the children?" He always asked her that.

"Well, they had just come from the kitchen, arguing over the names for their wolves. Arya is already head-over-heels in love and named the wolf Nymeria after the warrior-queen, she's with Robb and Theon practicing. Sansa was charmed and gracious and named hers Lady." "I am not surprised." Ned said, half-smiling.

"Robb had named his Grey Wind and has already started training with the creature. Bran plays with it in the courtyard know, not sure of what to call his of it. Rickon however is not sure."

"What about Jon?" Ned asked. "Jon was quiet during the process, but decided to name the direwolf Ghost. He quickly left to do this chores and is now with Lyanna." Cateyln expect Ned to say something, but he was silent. "I'm scared Ned."

"What for?" Ned asked, questioning in his tone. "I love Jon with all my heart and soul and think of him born from my own flesh. But Ned, every day that passes as Jon grows that I see a young Rhaegar Targaryen standing in front of me."

"I know," Ned said grimly. "I thought it would be OK. When he was young, he looked so much like Lyanna and I and even some of Brandon that I thought that he could pass for a northerner even with his eyes, but now…" He frowned, but did not continue.

Ned ran the swatch of oil in his hand down the metal for a dark glow. "The man died well. I was proud of Bran, and especially Arya. You would have been proud of them." "I am always proud of Brandon and Arya," Cateyln replied. "But I fear things are becoming more troubling. Wildling attacks, the threat of Mance Rayder and the dark things beyond the wall, especially direwolves in our part."

"You're starting to think like Jon," Ned smiled gently. "He actually believed what the deserter was rambling. The others are as dead as the children of the forest, gone many thousands of years. We do not have to fear."

"Until this morning, we did not have any fear of direwolves in the south either," Cateyln reminded him. "Remind me never to argue with a Tully." He said, smiling ruefully. "But you did come here to tell me these things. What is it my lady?"

Cateyln took her husband's hand and rested it on her cheek. "I am so sorry my love. I must be blunt for there is no way to soften to blow. Jon Arryn is dead." Ned Stark took the news hard as she expected. Ned had been fostered at the Eyrie and Lord Arryn had been a second father to him and his fellow ward and friend Robert Baratheon. When Aerys the Second had demanded their heads, the Lord of Eyrie had raised his banners in revolt.

"By the gods, Jon…" he stammered. "Is the news certain?"

"It was the king's seal, and written in Robert's own hand. He said Lord Arryn was taken quickly by a sudden fever and he had the milk of the poppy to clear his long pain."

"That's mercy I suppose," he said. Cateyln could see the grief on his face. "Your sister, her son. What news of them?"

"They both have their health, gods be good."

"You should go to her," Ned urged. "Go with the children and be with them in their grief." "I wish Ned, but I bring other news from the letter. The king rides to Winterfell with a hundred knights and the royal family." It took Ned a moment to comprehend her words. "Robert is coming?" A smile broke on his face.

Cateyln wished she could share in his joy, but she had heard of the signs: the dead direwolf with a broken antler in its throat. It could mean war, she had heard, a civil war where a side would die. And there was the important matter of Jon. Ned seemed to realise this too.

"My god's Cateyln. If Robert comes and sees Jon, he'll notice. Jon's eyes and the way he moves and talks, exactly like Rhaegar accordingly. He has too. And Lyanna…" Cateyln nodded, thankful that he understood.

"I know my lord. I think the proper way of handling this situation would be to keep Jon out of sight. Except for the feast or when Robert's not in his view, keep him in his room or with Robb or Ser Jory. They'll look after him. We should be safe if Robert barely notices his presence. The world thinks him as your bastard, Ned. I do not want to do this, but I may have to treat him horribly in front of the Lannisters and Baratheon's."

"I understand, but I hope Jon at least can be agreeable. The problem however will be Lyanna. Robert may want to see her." Ned squeezed her hand. "He may have three children from Cersei Lannister and she may hate him, but I believe his still loves her." "Pray that you are wrong Ned," Cateyln told him. "So it is set. We keep our nephew out of sight and Lyanna indoors. That would at least be preferable."

"I should send word to Ben, he would want to come." "Maester Luwin has sent the swiftest bird." She said. "Always one step ahead of me Cat." He said, stroking her hand. "You do realize Jaime Lannister will be in the party?" she asked him after a silence broke between them. Ned grimaced at that. Cateyln knew that Ned mistrusted and did not like the Lannisters, for they had come late to Robert' cause and been responsible for the sack of the capitol and the murder of the royal family, a fact that Ned had never forgiven them. "If the price for Robert's company are the Lannisters, then so be it."

"At least our children will have people to play with," Cateyln told him. "Prince Joffrey is thirteen while Princess Myrcella is nine while the youngest Tommen Baratheon is eight, the same as Brandon." "The last I saw of the children, they favored their Lannister look more than the Baratheon dark hair and blue eyes. Oh well, I just hope that they are more like Robert than Cersei," Ned said.

"There must be a feast of course, with singers and Robert will want to hunt. I will send Jory south with an honour guard to meet them on the Kingsroad and escort them back. I hope Robert is the same man I remember."

"He might not be, considering it has been over eight years since you last saw him," Cateyln pointed out. "Yes, your right," Ned Stark got off from his seat. "I just hope he is still the same Robert that he will not put our heads on a spike for guarding his enemy." Cateyln shivered with dread.

_**Thanks guys for your support for this story. Next chapter will have Robert's arrival at Winterfell and all that drama, as well as a twist on the scene where Joffrey taunts Robb to fight with steel. **_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thank you Guys so much for your support and sorry this chapter took so long. I had other matters to attend to throughout these few weeks. **_

**298 AL – Winterfell **

**Eddard**

It would only be a few hours until Robert arrived at Winterfell, according to Jory' raven. Eddard Stark was standing near the high seat of Winterfell, used by the preceding lords of Winterfell and long ago, was used as the throne of the ancient winter kings. Even in all these years Ned still felt a strange queerness inside him time again when he heard himself being referred to as Lord of Winterfell. It was a monumental task he had not expected and did not feel equal to, like Brandon who always had the confidence that Ned felt he lacked. Over the past sixteen years, he had been responsible for seeing to the affairs of his land in order and keeping the king's peace no matter his own personal feelings.

For all his ambitions, the one thing Ned took from Lord Rickard Stark was what he said to Brandon and himself before the events at Harrenhal. _Power does not give you any rights. You are equal to your vassals even if they are sworn to you. It is not a gift, but a burden that weighs heavily on your shoulders as you make important decisions for the sake of the North. You must be confident in yourself and be able to deal with repercussions of your actions. _Ned had taken those words to heart for all this time and strived to be someone who Brandon, his father and mother would be proud of, as well as his family. He would do what was right and what he felt needed to be done. Winter is coming after all – those were the Stark words.

The Great Hall was a very large place enclosed with grey stone and covered with the banners of Winterfell. The great doors were made of oak and iron which led to the castle yard. Inside the hall, eight long rows of trestle tables had been laid out in haste, four to each side of the central aisle. Theon Greyjoy and Hallis Mollen stood behind him while a dozen guardsmen lined the grey stone walls beneath the tall narrow windows. Eddard watched as servants scampered around the hall bringing out what seemed like an excess of plates of roast meat, vegetables, bread and leverage. Eddard knew Robert would only really be interest in the meat and the drink.

"My lord, your family," Hallis called to him, breaking his line of thought. Ned looked towards the great doors and gave a small smile. His firstborn son and heir Robb walked through, auburn hair that fell like a mane to his shoulders, with Lyanna close by his side. They were both having a tight conversation with each other, and Lyanna said something to Robb that made him laugh. Eddard was thankful to the old gods that his sister and children got along and loved each other so well – especially with Arya.

Following Lya and Robb closely was Bran, Arya and Jon. Arya and Bran were walking in front of Jon, whose hands were placed on both of their shoulders. Arya and Bran seemed to be arguing, but when Jon leaned down and whispered, they both stopped and grinned. They all had the sense to leave their direwolves out near the kennels. Cateyln came with Rickon clutching her green-and-grey dress and his daughter Sansa walked in last, her head high as she looked around curiously.

As the all grouped together in the centre of room, Ned sat down on cold stone with the carved heads of direwolves snarled on the ends of the seat's massive arms. Ned clasped them as he sat.

"Children, Catelyn, Lya, thank you for coming at such notice." "Is something wrong father?" Robb asked. "No, Robb, nothing's wrong. As some of you may know, King Robert is riding to Winterfell with the royal family as well as most of his household." He waited for Lyanna to do something, maybe even scream or shout curses, but she was strangely silent.

"That's great news father, but why he is coming now? Is their trouble in the capitol? Why now?"Jon inquired.

Ned sighed. "Children, do you remember who Jon Arryn is?" There was a pause when surprisingly Arya spoke up. "He was the man that fostered King Robert and yourself at the Eyrie. He was the first lord to rebel against the Mad King. He's also the king's hand." Looks like Arya did pay attention to what Maester Luwin taught them.

"Yes Arya. It grieves me to say this, but my foster father, Jon Arryn, is dead." There was a cold silence as they tried to comprehend his words. "I am _so sorry _father." Robb said finally.

"Lord Arryn was a good and gentle man." Lyanna said, shooting him a look of sympathy.

"He was," Ned agreed sadly. "And I mourn for him. But we must look forward at what is happening now. Robert is arriving in a few hours, already past the Barrowlands. The royal family is attending as well and before I continue, I want all of you to promise to be on your best behaviour during their stay, being the best host you can be."

He cast a meaningful look at the children. "Is that understood? Arya, Bran, Sansa, Jon, Robb…Lyanna? Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Lord Stark, right away." Lyanna replied sheepishly, grinning at the children as they chuckled. Ned shook his head. Sometimes, he forgot that Lyanna was a grown woman in her late twenties. She still acted like she was at sixteen.

"Robb and Bran, I want you to help your mother and the servants with the duties around the castle. Robert only gave us precious time but I want Winterfell in a good order. We must look presentable. Theon, you'll go with them as well. Arya, Sansa, I want you to go with Septa Mordane in the keep and do the tasks she sets out to do. And Arya you cannot run off like last time or else I will ban you from attending the feast, no matter how boring it may be. Am I clear young girl?" "Yes father." Arya said sullenly. Ned smiled inside. The only child of his that was a Stark through and through.

"What about me father?" Jon asked. Ned looked back at his nephew and felt guilty as with every time he heard that word. It was not true and only reminded Ned of the lie that he had been forced to tell all these years.

"Jon, Lyanna, I want you to stay back while the others attend to their duties. I need to talk with you privately about matters." When Ned finished, Robb's head perked up considerably, trying to hide quick glances at both Lyanna and Jon back and forth, questioning in his eyes, Ned could see. He did not know the matter. The rest of the children looked at Jon and Lyanna with confusion, while Cateyln cast a knowing look at Ned.

"Come along," his wife spoke loudly to his children. "We must attend to our duties. It'll be a busy day for all of us." With that, Cateyln took Arya and Bran with Rickon out the doors. Robb stood for a moment looking up in the ceiling, a look of concentration on his face. Before Ned could ask what was wrong, Robb bowed his head respectfully and left with Theon.

Ned wasted no time. "Jon, Lyanna, I think you know why I must talk to you." "I must keep out of the way," Jon answered to the statement, though not as unhappy as Ned had thought. "It's because I'm a bastard. The royal family will take it as an insult if I am amidst their ranks. Will I have to stay out of sight?"

"Yes," Ned told him truthfully. He looked at Lyanna who was watching her son. "When we receive Robert, you must stand near the back with the household. Every time after, I want you out of sight of Robert and the Lannisters. Remember Jon, no matter how you feel about this, I'm only doing this for your own safety."

His nephew frowned. "What do you mean by that Father?" "When you are older, you'll understand," Ned said to him. "But for now, you must keep to yourself." "Will I be able to come to the feast at least?" Ned hesitated before answering. "Yes, but please Jon, stay with the men in the lower quarter of the hall." Jon nodded.

"Lyanna," Ned turned to his sister, but she seemed to already know. "Should I stay in my chambers for the entire stay or just for the feast?" "Robert will want to see you when we receive him. I think you should stay near Cateyln and not utter a word. For the feast, I'm afraid you may have to stay hidden." Lyanna nodded understanding, though she looked unhappy.

"Wait, why does aunt Lyanna have to hide from King Robert?" Jon asked. "Jon, there is bad blood between the king and myself. I rejected something…precious to him and he has been cold towards my presence with conflicted feelings. I don't have to hide; I just can't make myself well known." Lyanna told him. "I don't understand." It was not his fault. Ned knew if he was in Jon's position he would be dazed. "You don't have to understand Jon, but just know I might not be around with you and your siblings for most of Robert's stay."

"Enough," Ned said. "Jon, Lyanna, do you understand what is needed of you?" He felt so bad for doing this to them, but he knew he must. To protect the family, sacrifices must be made no matter how they weighed upon your soul as you make these decisions. _Pray that Robb does not have to endure these lies when he succeeds me. _

They both nodded. "Good, Jon, I think you go help Robb and Theon in the meantime. Lyanna, you may do as you wish provided you do not disturb the men at work." "Can I help Ser Rodrik in the training courtyard?" Lyanna asked eagerly. So she still had the fighting spirit in her today. "You can, provided if he does not mind." He knew she was very good with the sword, though he suspected them men would not take kindly with having a woman in swordsplay Ned watched them go and sat back on the high seat of Winterfell. He did not know what was about to come, but he had a nudging feeling at the back of his mind that it would not end the way he hoped. All Ned could do was waiting-and see.

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold, silver and polished steel, three hundred strong. Over the heads of the knight's and banner men were the dozens of golden banners, emblazoned with the crowned stag of House Baratheon. Ned recognised many of the riders even after all these years. Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Sandor Clegane, Prince Joffrey with his golden hair and the stunted little man which could only be the Imp: Tyrion Lannister.

Next to him in on the left of his line were his children. All were clad in the heavy furs of Winterfell. Robb stood closest with Brandon and Rickon with him. As the eldest daughter, Sansa went after, staring after at Prince Joffrey, with Arya being last. She didn't seem to mind though, and was looking at the Imp with curiosity. So were all the Stark children it seemed. To his right was Cateyln who stood tall and graceful. Lyanna stood next to Cateyln, her hands by her side and her head bowed.

A huge man was at the head of the column, flanked by two knights of the Kingsguard, seemed almost a strange to Ned as he and the rest of the men and woman of Winterfell bowed…until he vaulted off the back of his warhorse with a familiar roar, pulled Ned up and crushed him in a bar high. "Eddard Stark! _Ned! _It's so good to see you. You haven't changed at all." The king looked him over top to bottom.

If only Ned could say the same for Robert. The last time he had seen the king it had been during the Greyjoy rebellion. He has been clean-shaven and muscled like a maiden's fantasy. He towered over men in his armour and the great antlered helmet of the Baratheon'. He also sounded more jovial and happy. Now all Ned could see why a strange. He had gained at least right stones and a bard to cover his double chin and the sag of royal jowls, but nothing could hide that stomach. Ned sharply noticed Arya trying not to laugh. "Your grace, Winterfell is yours."

By then the others had dismounted as well, and the grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Robert's queen and wife, Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children. Ned knelt in the snow to kiss the queen's ring while Robert embraced Cateyln a long-lost sister. It was then Robert finally regarded his sister. As Robert let go of Cat, he leaned forward and caught glance at his sister, who refused to look King Robert in the eyes. The air was so cold and the atmosphere tense. Ned held his breathe, waiting to see. He saw Cersei Lannister narrow her eyes at Lyanna in mild contempt, the same with Jaime Lannister. The Imp was looking around in curiosity and was grinning at the sights.

"Lyanna, it has been so long." Robert said finally, breaking the silence. "It definitely has _your grace_." Lyanna replied, indifference echoing in her tone. Either Robert did not notice the disrespect in her voice or he did not care. He stared at her for a moment, examining his sister in a way that made Ned uncomfortable. Before anything could be said, Robert broke off his sight and Ned could hear sighs of relief. Robert was at least smart enough to not make a scene in the public. Now all that needed to be past was Jon Snow, who luckily was all the way in the back line.

Robert moved to the right and stopped at Robb.

"You must be Robb." Robb shook Robert's hand. "It is an honor your grace. I hope your stay at Winterfell is a great one." "You're much more of a charmer than your father when he was approaching adulthood." Robert grinned.

"What is your name?" "Brandon my king," Bran spoke with uneasy confidence as Robert moved to him. "Brandon Stark." "Named after your uncle I see," Robert said. "You're strong for a boy of eight. You'll be a fine knight." The king ruffled Rickon' red-brown hair and came to Ned's daughters.

"You're a very pretty girl." Sansa blushed. Robert moved to Arya, but when he found his youngest daughter's eyes, Robert frowned. "What's your name?"

"Arya," she replied. Robert stood for a brief moment looking over Arya, but moved back to Ned a few moments later.

No sooner had every formality been taken when the king said to his host, "Ned, I would like to talk to you in private. Perhaps in the crypts, I would like to pay respect to your brother and father." Ned narrowed his eyes in confusion. He did not know why Robert would want to-oh, now he understood. The queen had begun to protest but a look from Robert shut her down. The went down the crypt together. The winding stone steps were narrow. "I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell," Robert complained as they descended.

"You seriously need to come south where you won't hide behind this much snow. _Snow! _You need to taste the summer before it flees."

Robert was breathing heavily by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, his face red in the lantern light. "Your grace, do you want to be taken to Brandon and my father?"

"Yes Ned." He led the way between the pillars and Robert followed wordlessly, shivering in the chill. It was always cold down in the crypts, but Ned was used to it. Ned stopped at last and lifted his oil lantern. The crypt continued on into the darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty unsealed; waiting for Ned and his children, a thought he would not think now.

"Here." Robert nodded silently and bowed his head. Two tombs side by side: Lord Rickard and Brandon Stark. Both executed on the orders of the mad king. Ned still did not understand why Robert would want to come down to see his deceased family. They had barely known each other except for the organisation of betrothals. "We must respect the dead for all that they did," Robert finally spoke. "Brandon and your father were the first to stand against the Targaryens, and should be thanked for their service against the dragonspawn." So his hatred for the dragonkings had not passed. _Robert, what would happen if I told you about Jon Targaryen, the trueborn son of Rhaegar, your enemy and Lyanna, your previous betrothed who rejected you? _

"I hate Rhaegar for what he did. Taking Lyanna away from me, making her hate me. I can still see it in her grey eyes. The coldness, the anger at me. He may be dead and his remains in ashes, but he haunts me. I wish I could kill him again. I didn't even know if I could stand to be next to her knowing she could not be mine." "Your grace, you have a wife-" "-the others take my wife," Robert muttered sourly, but he started back the way they came.

"Tell me about Jon." Ned said. It was more of a question that a statement. "I do not know what happened. One minute he was fine. At my son's name day tourney day he was as healthy as a maiden experiencing her first flowering. A fortnight later, he was dead, weak and frail. The sickness ran right through him." He paused beside a pillar, before a tomb. "I loved that man."

"We both did," Ned paused for a moment but continued walking. They found themselves between the pillars. Blind stone eyes seemed to follow them as they passed. The king kept an arm around Ned's shoulder. "You must wonder why I finally came north to Winterfell, after so long." Ned had his suspicions, but did not give them away. "For the joy of my company, no doubt." Robert grasped Ned by the elbow. "I need you, Ned." "I am yours to command Your Grace. Always." "In King's Landing. Not up all this way north where you're not use to anyone." There was a pregnant pause. "Lord Eddard Stark," Robert spoke loudly. "I would name you the Hand of the King."

Ned dropped to one knee. The offer did not surprise him. Why would Robert come this far? The position was the ultimate title, second in command of the realm only answering to the king himself. It was an honour he did not want or care for. "You're Grace," he said. "I am not worthy of the honour." Robert groaned.

"If I wanted to honour you, I would let your retire and put your son as Lord of Winterfell. I am planning to make your run my kingdom as I sit around fucking wenches, drinking and making myself go to an early grave. Look at me Ned, I look disgusting yet I do not care.

"Come on Ned. Smile at least. That's a command."

Ned smiled.

"You helped me win the Iron Throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna and I had been wed, we would have been brothers bound by blood. Sadly, she rejected me and it has pained me for most of my life. It's not too late. I have a so. You have a daughter. My firstborn Joffrey and Sansa shall join our houses."

That offer _did _surprise him. "Your Grace, Sansa is only eleven."

Robert waved an impatient hand. "Old enough for a betrothal. The marriage can come later. And anyway, your girl looks like she wants to escape the north anyway. This is a good opportunity for her to learn more about Westeros." The king smiled. "Stand up and say yes Ned." "My lord, before I accept,"

Ned hesitated. "This is all so quick. May I have time to consider…to tell my wife…" "Yes, yes, of course. Tell Cateyln and your children. Sleep on it if you must."

Robert gripped Ned by the shoulder to keep himself still. "You know, I was wondering, where is your bastard son? I did not see him when we were received." This was the moment which Ned was afraid of. "Jon was at the back your grace," Ned said cautiously. "We thought it would look like a slight against the royal family if a bastard was around." "Nonsense!" Robert closed his eyes and breathed in. "I would like to see the boy, the bastard boy who was living proof that Ned Stark actually grew a pear and did something normal that a man with sense would do during war." _Robert, don't say anything you would regret. _

"I heard he looks a lot like you as he grew older, more than your trueborn children. That must have rubbed Cateyln in the wrong way." _Quite the contrast. She was extremely happy that the pretense of my lie could be additionally supported. _"Cateyln had grown to love my natural son as her own. She is kind to him which surprised him. Though he does have his mother's eyes and features however."

"Ah, well. I would like to see him for a moment. See the child who Ned Stark conceived, after an hour forgetting his honour. Ashara Dayne is a fine women Ned. I don't blame you. If I didn't know how important she was to you, I probably would have courted her myself." "She is a fine lady," Ned admitted. "I love my wife and children though." _Though if it could have been different…if Lyanna and Rhaegar hadn't…_

He knew his task of keeping his sister and nephew safe would be difficult. If Robert ever found out, even suspected, then Westeros would have a crisis. Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were listening to his thoughts…to his mind...to his lies.

**298 AL – Winterfell Great Hall **

**Jon**

In all of Jon's personal experience, being a bastard in the terms of status was terrible. Although everyone did treat Jon with respect and affection, he would never have the same opportunities. However today was one of those times he could make an exception to this firm guideline? As he took filled his cup with sweet summer-wine and settled back in his place on the bench, a fruity taste filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roast meat and fresh-baked bread. The walls were draped with the banners o the direwolf of Stark, the Baratheon Stark and the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing a harp and reciting a ballad, but Jon could barely heard with the roar of the fire, the clanging of plates and cups and the cheers and shouting of a hundred drunken conversations. It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. His brother's and sister were seated with the royal children though with the exception of Sansa, did not seem to be as happy as he would have thought. Robb shot him a look of pity but Jon had merely chuckled and raised a thump up. He still needed to talk to Robb about why he had been listening to Jon and Lyanna. They were beneath the raised platform where his father and Cateyln hosted the king and king.

His father would normally only allow one cup of wine for his children - even Robb and Jon who were a few weeks and months away from manhood. Jon grinned as he could have as many as he wanted. He knew Lord and Lady Stark would disapprove, as well as his aunt, but he did not care. They were busy entertaining the guests while his aunt was in her room away from the king. Not knowing all the details, Jon knew his aunt had been betrothed to King Robert before Rhaegar Targaryen had eloped with her and that there was a unfinished tension between them.

The squires and youths around him urged him on as he drank. They were fine company and Jon relished in the stories they had of the past and present. He was confident that his company were more entertaining that the royal children. He had sated his curiosity over the visitors when they made their entrance, the procession taking place near the bench he sat. His lord father had come escorting the queen. She was beautiful and men said, and even more that Jon had thought. A jewelled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair. She seemed more cold and feigned of happiness than Jon could see.

Next had appeared was King Robert himself, with Lady Cateyln on his arm. She looked radiant in a silk green-and-blue. King Robert himself was a huge let down. Jon had heard stories of the Storm Lord Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident, crusher of the Greyjoy rebellion. All he saw was a fat man of no interest. After them came the children. Little Rickon first who made it through. Close behind him was Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colours. He had Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a beautiful child with a cascade of golden curls under a jewelled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables, realising that she was smitten with his half-brother. He had almost laughed. Robb was grinning like a fool himself, though he did seem distracted like his mind was processing something.

His sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya came with plump Prince Tommen, a boy of eight with white-blond hair. Arya did not look happy and was giving the poor boy a look of disdain. She clearly did not want to be doing this. Arya caught sight of Jon and gave him a tight smile. Sansa drew crown Prince Joffrey Baratheon, the heir to the Iron Throne.

Prince Joffrey like the rest of his siblings had inherited from their mother a thick tangle of blood curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar as well as deep green eyes. Jon could not see anything of Robert Baratheon in the royal children (except for their height, which made Jon uncomfortable as Joffrey was thirteen, but was slightly taller than Jon or Robb) but he supposed it wasn't unusual After all, Robb, Sansa, Bran and Rickon took after Lady Cateyln with little Stark features; while only Arya Ned Stark's youngest trueborn daughter took after him, the only one. Even Jon, his bastard son, had been given his Dornish mother's purple eyes, high cheekbones and long eyelashes. Arya looked a lot like Lyanna though her face was not as pretty.

Jon did not like Joffrey Baratheon. His lips were pouty and the way he gave a bored, disdainful look at the Winterfell Great Hall made his blood boil. He was actually more interested in the pair that came behind him: The Kingsguard Lion and the Imp of Casterly Rock. Ser Jaime Lannister was tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that was so false it cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House embroidered in gold thread. _Now this is what a king should look like. _He thought.

Tyrion Lannister was the youngest of Lord Tywin's children and the ugliest. He was a dwarf, half the height of the Kingslayer and struggling to keep pace on his stunted legs. His head was too large for his body, with a brute squashed-in face beneath a swollen shelf of a brow. One green eye and one black one peered out under a lank of white-blond. He was the guest that had fascinated Jon the most. He wanted to know all about him, the Imp and the foreigner even in his own home as the Rock. Jon knew that the Imp shared his love of books, especially history and literacy. _For such an ugly short man, he seems to be the cleverest out of all of them. _Jon saw Tyrion' head wonder around the hall in genuine pleasure and excitement.

The last of the high lords to enter were his uncle, Benjen Stark who was wearing the black of the Night's Watch, along with Theon Greyjoy. Uncle Ben gave Jon a warm smile as he past and Theon gave him a bored grin that Jon and Robb knew meant that after the feast, he would go and fuck a whore. Typical Theon Greyjoy.

After all had been seared, toasts were made, thanks were given and returned, and then the feasting had begun.

Something rubbed against his leg beneath the table. Jon didn't need to look down to see what it was. "Still hungry? Direwolves seem to eat so much." Jon let a pigeon carcass slide to the floor between his legs. Ghost ripped into the bird with savage delight. His brothers and sister had not been allowed to bring their wolves into the hall, but that had not stopped Jon. He knew he shouldn't tempt his luck as Ghost may cause a fright to the Lannisters or Baratheon's, but there were still dogs more than Jon could see at the end of the hall.

Jon grinned at his wolf and ruffled the shaggy white fur. The direwolf looked up at him, nipped gently at his hand, and then went back to eating. "Is this one of the direwolves I've heard so much about?" Jon looked up happily as Uncle Benjen put a hand on his head and ruffled his dark brown hair. "Uncle Benjen. It's good to see you. Yes, my wolf's name is Ghost."

Benjen made room and sat down next to Jon. He took the cup out of Jon's hands and gave a long drink. "Summer-wine," he said at last. "How many have you had Jon?" Jon smiled, saying nothing. Benjen Stark laughed and drank the last of the wine. His uncle resembled his father a great deal, but was more gaunt and sharp-featured. He wore black velvet, with high leather boots and a wide belt with a silver buckle. Ben watched Ghost with amusement. "A quiet wolf," he noted. "Calm, collected, ready to spring on action if anything was amiss." "He's not like the others," Jon said. "That's why I named him Ghost and also because he's white of fur."

Benjen gave Jon a long look. "Why aren't you eating with your siblings?" "Father and Cateyln thought the queen would take it as an insult if they sat a Snow near them. King Robert wouldn't care thought, and if it were just him…" Jon said in a flat tone, thought he did not mind really and was not upset at his father or step-mother.

"I see," His uncle suddenly looked around. "I say, where's my sister Lyanna? I had thought her to be at this feast of all people, probably here with you hanging with the squires. You know your aunt."

"Father asked her not to attend," Jon answered sadly. Things would have been better with his aunt to jest with.

"He was afraid it would open old wounds-" "-with Robert and her rejection, I understand." His uncle glanced over his shoulder at the raised platform. "I just talked to your father. He does not _look _like to be enjoying the festivities unlike Robert. God's that man in wenching right in front of his own wife!"

Lord Eddard Stark was observing all the courtesies, but there was tightness in him that Jon rarely saw. He said little and looked over the great hall with hooded eyes, watching nothing and seeing something. Lady Cateyln sat next to him trying to engage a conversation with the queen, who was ice as a sculpture. King Robert was with the knights and noblemen down below, drinking heavily throughout the night. He was holding a pretty northern wench of nineteen in his arms and groping her in all view while the men roared around him. Robb was talking courtly with Myrcella, though his eyes always found Jon and was ranked with something similar to disbelief and deep thinking as he looked into Jon's eyes when he thought his bastard brother did not notice. Bran and Rickon were playing with Prince Tommen and Arya was flicking food around the table at Sansa in a bored state, the eldest daughter who was entertaining a visible Prince Joffrey.

"It all seems to tense, makes my nose twitch. Everyone seems angry or in confusion." Jon told his uncle in a low, quiet voice. "You observe well," Benjen gave Jon a measuring look.

"You know Jon; you should join the Night's Watch." Jon did not know what to say to not rebuff "Uncle, I have heard much of the Night's Watch, but I do not think I would want to join thought I would love too. If my situation at Winterfell had been different-maybe. I even asked father about it, but he refused hotly."

"I could talk to my brother," Benjen offered. "Make him see that it would be an honour. You are a capable boy."

Jon swelled with pride. "Robb is a stronger lance and more muscular than me, but I'm quicker, faster and more deadly with the sword. I'm also an excellent rider, on par with my aunt when she was sixteen."

"Notable achievements my nephew."

Benjen poured more wine and drank in a long swallow. "Besides, I don't think my aunt would be too happy with my decision. She may love all her niece and nephews equally, but she has always had a special spot for me I believe." "Yes Jon, your _aunt," _Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. "Of course, even after all these years she hasn't-" Benjen caught himself, reluctantly stopping what he was about to say. "What?" "Nothing Jon." Benjen stood up and dusted off his trousers. "I'm going to check on Lya. Gods I haven't seen her in so many years. We have much to talk about."

"Do you want me to show you the way?" Jon offered. Benjen gave a throaty laugh. "Jon, I have lived her probably longer than you have. I've only been in the Watch for thirteen years, I still remember the great keep and where my old chambers are." "Arya took them." "Of course," Benjen smiled and patted Jon on the back. "If you change your mind on joining the black, tell me or ride to the Wall. I must warn you though the Wall is hard and a difficult service. We take no wives, no sons or mistresses. Thought it a great honour for the North." "Thank you uncle. I'll honestly think about it." Ben nodded and walked away.

Jon sat there silence for a moment, letting the loud noises of laughter and joy cloud his mind. He pushed himself to his feet and instantly felt a lurching dizziness in his head. He must have drunk more wine that he thought. He moved forward. Ghost quietly following him and almost ran into a serving girl who steadied him with a hand. Jon smiled gratefully. "Sorry mam. I didn't notice." The girl was very pretty and was around seventeen, with long black hair and almond brown eyes and a good figure. She smiled back at him and caressed a strand of his hair. "No problem mi'lord. Wouldn't want a handsome man like you causing himself injury." Jon opened his mouth to respond, but she winked and walked past him with a flagon of spiced wine. He watched her go and went out into the night.

The yard was quiet and empty. A lone sentry stood high on the battlements of the inner wall. The castle was dark and deserted. The sounds of music and song spilled through the open windows behind him. If he couldn't enjoy the pleasantries that the night offered him of socialising, then he would have to do something else.

Jon found a dummy soldier and a wooden sword in the centre of the courtyard and struck at it as hard as he could, while practicing handling the weapon in a flowing motion. He thrust out a few times. Ghost growled and prowled as Jon twisted his wrist and swung the blade in a clockwise motion.

"Boy," a voice called out to him softly that Jon almost did not hear it. He turned. Tyrion Lannister walked down towards him drinking brandy. He looked so much like a gargoyle that Jon almost yelped. The dwarf grinned and pointed. "Is that animal a wolf?" "A direwolf," Jon corrected. "His name is Ghost."

"Aren't direwolves only north of the wall?"

"I have no clue why, but our Maester thought that they must have passed through desperately to get away from something. Dark things are across the Wall." He stared at the little man, many questions and curiosity on mind.

"What are you doing back their anyway?" Jon asked. The dwarf drank more.

"Preparing for a night with your family." Tyrion Lannister leaned against a wooden stump nearest to Jon. "Might I take a closer look at your wolf?" Jon hesitated, and then nodded slowly.

"Be careful." He clicked his tongue at Ghost and he came forward, uncertain. "Ghost, come here. Go to Lord Lannister." "Lord Lannister," Tyrion amused.

"My father would rather take the black than hear anyone call me that." Lannister petted the direwolf slowly and Ghost rubbed his head on the dwarf's chest. He ruffled the snow-white fur between Ghost's ears. "Nice wolf."

The wold pup padded back to Jon and nuzzled at his face. He kept an eye of Tyrion, but did not seem to mind him close. The dwarf cocked his head to one side and looked Jon over. "I'm Tyrion Lannister and you must be the bastard son of Ned Stark, am I right?" Jon felt coldness pass through him. It happened all the time when a stranger called him, because it was rarely evoked and he was never used to it. He pressed his lips and said nothing.

"Did I offend?" The Imp said. "So sorry. Dwarves according to my sister don't have any tactful voices. I dress badly and I say anything that comes to my head." He grinned. "You _are_ the bastard, though?

"Yes, Lord Stark is my father and Lady Cateyln is not, thought I wish it as does she." Jon admitted, stiffly. He did not think the dwarf seek to hurt him.

"It is strange that Lady Cateyln shows you this much affection. I have heard that she is a prime example of a loving mother in the capitol. Have you even seen you real mother?"

"No," Jon told him. "Ashara Dayne is all the way in Dorne. She has sent me a few letters from time-to-time, but it feels like a stranger talking through words. The only things I really share in common with her are my eyes." He didn't know why he was sharing all this to the Imp. All he knew was that he felt comfortable around him.

"Curious. Most curious," Lannister studied his face.

"Yes," he said. "You have more of the north in you than your brothers, though I must say you resemble your father in physical appearance, not facial. If you had, then you would be not as handsome as women know you for. You look a lot like your Stark aunt."

"How do you-" The Imp waved his hand dismissively. "I would give you counsel, but you do not need it. Just know this: never forget what you are, bastard or no." "What do you know of being a bastard?" The dwarf's mouth twisted. "All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes."

And with that, Tyrion Lannister turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. "I would like to talk more with you sometime." Jon called out. Tyrion looked over his shoulder. "Please do. I need someone to distract myself with besides whores and my brother." He opened the door and went back inside. Jon stared at the large doors for a long time, and struck the dummy hard.

Ghost went back to the feast, leaving Jon alone. He was walking down to his chambers a few hours later when he heard a sharp cry from his aunt's room as he passed. "Robert, step back. I don't want to hurt you." "Hurt me?" A boisterous, loud voice erupted. "You have already hurt me Lya. For sixteen years from that day, your broke my heart and made my marry that unforgiving cold golden-girl. I was meant to marry YOU!" Jon heard a loud thud noise and a slow dread crept through his heart. He recognized those voices. Jon twisted the handle of his aunt's door and stood in the doorframe, finding the scene almost painful.

King Robert Baratheon was standing very close to his aunt, his red face flushed behind that great black beard. He looked very drunk and his eyes were small and unfocused. His big frame blocked the view but Jon could see what was happening. The king held Lyanna's hand in his grip, tightening his hold not realising what he was doing. "Let me go Robert." They did not seem to notice Jon's presence. "No," Robert Baratheon snarled. "No, not until I get a clear answer I've wanted for all this time. Why? Why did you go with Rhaegar? Why him and not me?!" His aunt tried to loosen his grip, but Robert stepped forward and grabbed both hands. "LET GO OF ME!" Lyanna yelled in his face. Robert's hunkered but did not let go.

"My king, please let go of my aunt." Jon said loudly. The king seemed to not have heard him. Lyanna head popped to side of Robert's chest and her fearful face turned bright. "Jon," At that, the king _finally _let go and spun around for Jon to see him and his aunt in full focus. Lyanna went back and rubbed her wrists, which were very red and…a small cut. A wave of fury passed through Jon aimed at the king, but he focused. "Your grace, please calm down. Your hurting my aunt and-" "I'M HURTING YOUR AUNT?" King Robert practically screeched those words. Jon's eyes rang. "Do you know…and anyway, who are you to say you bastard? I am your king and better." _No, all I see is a once great man now turned into a pathetic, drunken excuse of a human being. _

Lyanna came to Jon and stepped in front of him. She was wearing long robes of grey fur. "Robert, don't do anything rash." "Shut up Lya!" Robert hissed. "I don't want to listen to you. Let me deal with this little runt." "This little runt is my nephew," Lyanna replied coolly. "I know who you are boy," Robert Baratheon pointed at Jon. "Dragonspawn, that's what you are. I've known ever since you were a wee babe. Those purple eyes, that Valyrian inhuman handsomeness. I thought we had rid Westeros of all these bloody spawn."

Jon raised his eyebrows. "My king, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. You're making no sense and attacking me for no reason." "Your _father _thought you could keep him from me, but no, I know what I know. He should have died once and for all at Ruby Ford. Your sire could not just leave me in peace." He heard a gasp from Lyanna but did not look back. "Your grace, please. Let's take you back to the feast." "NO!" Jon was getting tired of having his eyes being blown half to deaf. He had no idea why the king was being so vicious and cruel towards him. He had done nothing. "I will not. I have unfinished business. But I can start with you bloody purple eyed bastard." Robert stepped forward with a speed that Jon could not imagine from a fat man and retracted his hand. Before Jon could duck, Robert pushed his heavy arm forward and punched Jon in the face. _Crunch _

A hundred flashes of pain went through Jon as he fell back and crashed into the wooden door. He let out a cry of pain and fell to the floor, clutching his face as hot tears fell to his cheeks. The pain, it was unbelievable. He has never felt that much power struck at him before. His mind was closed, he could not concentrate. He could not feel anything as the darkness came towards him. The last sound Jon heard was of his lord father in the room, with Robb close to his face and…

When Jon found himself conscious, he lifted his body and jerked up in surprise. He was in his bedroom with no shirt. He could feel a thudding pain all over his face, as if a thousand dragons were breathing fire through the inside. Before Jon could comprehend anything, he heard the door open. Jon looked up and saw his elder half-brother Robb. "Oh, you've awaken Jon. Good, we were so worried." Robb knelt down near Jon and handed him a wet towel. Jon rubbed it across his face, feeling a soothing sensation as the water attacked at the hurt.

"By the gods, what the hell happened, Jon? Remember what father said about not getting into trouble with the king?!" "Trouble?" Jon said loudly. "I did not do anything I swear. You should ask our dear aunt. The king was confronting her and was becoming physical. I was trying to calm him down and then he _punches me in the face!" _

Robb placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "We know Jon, I was just asking. We heard all that commotion from the hall. God's King Robert was so loud. Father, Mother and I went to investigate and we found you on the floor almost looking like death and our jolly king backing away, muttering apologies. Father took him away while Mother, Lyanna and I took you back to your chambers." Robb regarded Jon. "What were you doing in their anyway?" "I was passing by." Jon answered weakly. The pain in his face was unbelievable and Jon gave a little cry as a jolt pressed against his eye. "Jon, I think you want to look in a mirror. It doesn't look pretty." "What is there a bruise?" "More like three or four conjoined."

Jon got out of his bed and checked the polished glass. He groaned as he checked. The entire upper half from the left side of his forehead to the curve of his cheekbones was bruised purple and black. It looked ugly and made Jon filled with anger. "How did a fat man like that cause so much damage?" Jon asked himself loudly. "He is a Baratheon, and they are known for their fury." Robb jested. "Ha-ha-ha," Jon opened his wardrobe and pulled on a grey tunic.

There was silence for a long time. "Maester Luwin is going to give you the milk of the poppy. He said he'll come now." "Good," Jon replied, gently touching the thickened bruise. "It hurts like a bitch." Robb laughed. Then his blue eyes turned serious. "Jon, there is a question I want to ask you." Before Robb could continue, the door swung open and Maester Luwin came in with a bottle. Jon smiled in gratitude but his smile died as Robb stood up respectfully. It was not only Maester Luwin, but his father as well.

**298 AL – Winterfell**

**Arya **

Nymeria nipped eagerly at her hands as Arya untied her in the guardsroom. She had just come running away from her stiches with the rest of the women. Her stiches had been crooked, and Sansa' had been excellent as usual. It was definitely not fair. Her older sister got everything: the womanly skills, the lovely graceful movement and the Tully beauty. The only thing she had was the ability to ride horses like her aunt and to manage the household of course.

Her direwolf eyes gleamed like two golden coins in the sunlight. Her direwolf licked her ear and Arya giggled. By now, Septa Mordane would have certainly have sent word to her mother. Arya did not want to be found. She had a better notion. The boys were at practice in the yard. She wanted to see Robb, Jon or Theon put gallant Prince Joffrey on his back. "Come," she whispered to Nymeria.

She found her brother Jon watching the fighting a few paces behind the many men watching the sparring. His direwolf Ghost, already larger than most of the direwolves beside Grey Wind, greeted Nymeria with a nip. He was so engaged to the fighting that he almost didn't see her.

Jon gave her a curious look. "Shouldn't you be practising your stiches, little sister?" Arya made a face. "I wanted to watch some fights. You look like you've been through hell." It was true. Her brother's left side of his face was a bad colour of purplish black, a sickened bruise that was healing slowly. Jon touched his face subconsciously.

"You heard?"

"Of course, Sansa was calling you an idiot while Jory applauded you. What happened after?" Jon laughed. "Good King Robert was knocked out from the drink. He doesn't remember a thing he screeched at me. He came a few hours after Father came to talk to me and apologized. Apparently he thought I was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen in his drunken state. I had this mad desire to throttle him, but I let it pass. He then asked me about things, like my mother, if I knew her, my relationships with my siblings. I still haven't quite forgiven him for yesterday, but he is an alright person."

Arya frowned and went up on her toes to touch Jon's bruise. He winced slightly.

"Where's Aunt Lyanna?" Arya asked. "She's with father and your lady mother," Jon replied, his eyes gone dark. "Over what happened yesterday. She was actually more scared than I was over what happened."

Prince Tommen and Bran were huffing and pudding and bitting at each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel. Two dozen spectators, men and boys and a mixture of Stark and Lannister, calling out encouragement. Robb and Theon shouting the loudest. "GO BRAN!" Robb yelled.

"You can do it!" Jon shouted. Arya watched her brother whack Tommen.

"I could do just as well as Bran, perhaps even better. He's only eight. I'm ten years old." Jon looked over her. "You're too skinny Arya." Arya glared at him and Jon messed up her hair.

Robb came back towards them. "Hey Arya, aren't you supposed to-?" "Shut up Robb." Arya hissed. Robb laughed. "You see Prince Joffrey?" She hadn't, but she looked again and saw him. He was surrounded by men she did not recognise, young squires in the livery of Lannister and Baratheon, all strangers. Knights were all among them.

"Look at him, the arms of his surcoat," Jon suggested. Arya looked. The arms were divided down the middle; on one side was the crowned stag of House Baratheon, on the other the lion of Lannister. "Bloody Lannisters are so proud," Robb growled. "You think the royal sigil would be enough but he tries to make his mother's house equal to the king's. That bloody idiot, he is so weak. I beat him so easily on my previous bout. Even his own brother is doing better than him. Stupid coward."

Jon chucked. "You know Robb; you should make your own emblem. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms."

"A wolf with a fish in its mouth." It made her laugh. "That would look silly." Arya laughed along with Jon and Robb.

There was a shout from in front of them. Prince Tommen was rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing. All the padding made him look like an elephant. Bran stood over him ready to hit him again. The Stark men began to laugh.

"Enough!" Ser Rodrik called out. He gave the prince a hand. He looked around as Tommen went with the Baratheon men. "Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?" Robb moved forward instantly. "Gladly."

Joffrey Baratheon moved into the sunlight where his hair shone like spun gold. "This is boring. A game for children." Theon Greyjoy gave a sudden bark of laughter. "You are a child yourself my prince." He said derisively. "Robb may be a child," Joffrey said. "I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword." "Really? It seemed to me like I owned you on the yard, Joff," Robb retorted. "Are you afraid?" Theon snorted. Prince Joffrey looked at him. "Oh, terrified," he said. "You're so much older, it would be unfair." Some of the Lannister men laughed.

Jon frowned. "He truly is the biggest shit I've seen." For that, Arya had to agree. "What are you suggesting?" asked Ser Rodrik to the prince. "Live steel." "Done," Robb shot back. "You'll be sorry!" "Absolutely not. Live steel is too dangerous," Ser Rodrik placed a hand on Robb's shoulder. "I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges."

Joffrey said nothing, but a tall knight with black hair and burn scars of his, pushed in front of the prince going forward. "This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, _ser?" _"Master-of-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and don't forgot it." The tall knight was muscled as a bull. "Is that a threat?" "No, only a note you should take down." "Are you training women here?"

"I am training _knights!" _Ser Rodrik said pointedly. "They'll have steel when they are ready." The burned man looked at Robb. "How old are you, boy?" "Fifteen," Robb said. "I killed a man at thirteen." Robb bristled. His pride wounded. He turned to Ser Rodrik. "Let me do it. I can beat him." "Beat him with a tourney blade, then," Ser Rodrik said. Joffrey mockingly yawned and shrugged. "Come and see me when you're older, Stark. If you're _not too old." _A ring of laughter from the Lannisters.

"That stupid freak." Arya turned and saw Jon shiver in fury. "How dare he mock my brother? How dare he mock Ser Rodrik?" "Jon," she began, knowing where this might go. He shook his head. Robb's curses rang through the entire yard. Theon Greyjoy and Jon went over and seized Robb's arm to keep him away from the prince.

Joffrey laughed and looked around where Arya and Jon, who had come back to where she was, where. His green eyes found them. "Ah, look gentlemen. It's the Arya Horseface and the bastard of Winterfell. They look so angry. Are you two like your baby wolf pup of a brother?" Lannister laughter. Jon fumed. Arya narrowed her eyes in shock. Joffrey continued and sneered at Jon.

"Hey bastard. I heard how my father beat you senseless. The new look is an improvement." Jon closed his eyes. Joffrey chuckled and went on. "I actually met your mother once when we rode in Dorne. I must say my mother and I were quite captivated by her beauty. We were deciding whether she was a slut, a whore, or a bit of both." Now it was Robb who put his shoulder around Jon to stop him for doing anything rash. "The little boy is not worth it Jon." Robb muttered.

"Come on Snow," Joffrey taunted. "Fight me. I know you want too. Tell you what, you fight me with real steel and you beat me, I'll apologise. If I win-" "Very small chance at that." Theon Greyjoy muttered. "-then it proves that the Stark and their litter are just scared little dogs on a leash." Jon was silent for a moment, weighing in the odds. Arya hoped he would not do anything stupid. She hated the prince with all her guts for how he was making fun of her brothers.

"Prince Joffrey," Jon said finally. "I accept. But _when _I win, I'll make you do more than apologise." Joffrey frowned. Arya grinned inward. He had not expected a bastard to accept. "Jon, don't. If you injure him it won't be the same." Ser Rodrik warned. "Don't worry Ser," Jon said confidently. "I won't even touch him with my sword, that's a promise. It'll be easy enough." Some laughs from the Stark men.

Ser Rodrik frowned, but sighed eventually. "Live steel it is." He shouted. He went over to the sword stand, took a steel longsword that was almost Arya's height, and handed it pommel first to Jon Snow. "Be careful Jon," Prince Joffrey was momentarily stunned. "I-but-I-" "Prince Joffrey, if you feel like you're not up to the task, I can fight the bastard for you." A Lannister man offered. Joffrey shook his head rapidly. "No, I will do this. I am the better person that Jon Snow. He fell to my father yes, so he should fall to me. I am the heir to the Iron Throne. A Baratheon and a Lannister."

A few minutes had passed and Jon and Joffrey were clad in armour and inside the yard. By then, more people had come to watch the fight: Jon Snow verses Prince Joffrey Baratheon. What the Lannister' did not know was how good Jon was with the sword. Arya had seen him fight and she had every confidence. He was probably better than most of the knights in the yard. Maybe, however, not to the big scarred man.

Joffrey held his own sword, Lion Tooth in both hands, trying to look with confidence. Jon swung his sword a few times to judge the weight and handling. "Is it right for you Jon?" Arya asked. Jon gave her a small smile. "If all goes to my plan, I won't even need it. But yes, it feels good though I would prefer to wield a bastard sword." Ser Rodrik closed the gate on his side while the other men clasped it shut. It was just those two in the ring. The Lannisters cheered on for Prince Joffrey while the Stark men yelled praise to Jon.

"Remember, Prince Joffrey you are allowed to cause Jon injury. Jon you cannot allow anything except for blows on his armour or an attack with the blunt side of your sword. Is that understood from both of you?" Both nodded, though Arya could see an evil sneer from Joffrey as he eyed Jon. Robb noticed it too. "The Prince has planned something," Robb said. "I don't know. Maybe he might get his men-" "We should be careful." Theon Greyjoy murmured. Robb nodded. Arya frowned and bit her lip.

Joffrey stood on one side of the ring and Jon on the other. Jon had a good stance going while Joffrey was clumsy. Arya hoped he bled on his own sword. "One, two, three, and…BEGIN!"

_**Next chapter will finish off the fight with another battle on a large scale, a foreshadowing to future events. Next chapter will also deal with Bran's fall and other viewpoints outside Winterfell. Next chapter will also start diverging of the set path of the story a little, as Jon is obviously staying home instead of going to the wall. Not my best chapter, but I hope you like it. Please review and thank you for reading.**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry this took so long. Hope you enjoy and my apologies for typos. I was also wondering if anyone would like to be my beta readers for future chapters. I would like someone looking over it. I have a pretty hectic schedule in the next few weeks so if I don't update regularly, it's because I'm on holidays. Sorry for the typos. I am always rushing these thing without proof reading. **

**298 AL – Winterfell Yard **

**Robb**

Prince Joffrey immediately charged at Jon with Lion Tooth raised. His mouth was an evil sneer, clearly expecting an easy fight. Robb had fought with Joffrey in a previous bout. The Prince knew how to use a sword, but he could not fight to save his own life. It was quite embarrassing considering who his father had been in his prime.

Robb had not taken his own bout seriously at all, and he had wasted two minutes laughing and taunting the prince as he lazily dodged his swings before landing the first blow at the center of his chest. The Prince had made excuses of course and took the loss to his stride, saying he hadn't tried to appease his hosts.

Jon was a different matter. Robb knew that his bastard brother always took a battle of swords very seriously and this was no different. His purple eyes were filled with concentration and focus as Joffrey drew closer. It seemed to Robb he was giving Joffrey a chance.

The Prince began erratically swinging to the right. Jon quickly stepped back and brought his sword up to meet Joffrey's steel. Joffrey began a series of overhead strikes which Jon simply brought his sword up to block Easily predicting the path of the erratic swings and stepping inside the swings to land a punch to Joffrey's elbow, temporarily stunning him.

Beside Robb, Ghost howled as Jon raised his sword to block a swing from Joffrey. He pushed him back and forced their swords apart, causing the prince to stumble backwards and almost fall over. Joffrey's green eyes became agitated. "You're good Snow, but not good enough." Joffrey moved closer to stab, but Jon began his own attack.

He swung his blade and slashed at Joffrey's armor, being careful not to cause any wounds or damage to the bare skin. He feinted to the left and as Joffrey weakly tried to raise his blade to defend; Jon twisted his blade to the right and brought it to the side, hitting Joffrey at his hip. Joffrey howled in pain, but as the Lannister men rose up, the hound glared back at them, as if daring them to stand. They sat back down.

The prince's inexperience clearly showed. He was now sweating as a pig and was becoming slower and clumsier as he clashed with Jon's steel. Jon however had not broken a sweat. Jon's sword danced in the air as he brought it forward to the centre of Joffrey's chest. Joffrey went back and then Jon pushed him down with his left hand. As Joffrey scrambled to get up, Jon lifted his foot and placed it on the prince's chest, pushing him back down with a thud. Theon stifled a laugh. The prince yelped but Jon bent down and slapped him softly across the cheek.

"Do you yield?" Jon asked, calm for a person who had just beat the boy who had insulted him. Joffrey jittered on the floor trying to get up. "No, I refuse to be defeated by a bastard!" Jon leaned forward applying more pressure to his foot and moving it up towards the neck. Joffrey's face shrivelled in pain. "Do you _yield?" _Jon asked again, emphasising the last word with anger. He winched slightly however, touching his bruise.

"Okay, okay, I yield. Please, stop your hurting me!" Joffrey screeched his voice cracking like a tiny girl. Robb, Theon and Arya burst out laughing, while Jon's eyes hinted at amusement. After what seemed like a long time, Jon brought up his foot and stepped away from Joffrey. He turned to where the Stark men where and lifted his sword in victory.

The men of the direwolf erupted into cheers and congratulations as Jon walked slowly back towards them. Ser Rodrik tried to calm them down, but Robb could see a small smile play on his lips.

Joffrey Baratheon slowly got his feet, anger, jealously and embarrassment in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but the Hound was already behind him and placed a hand over his shoulder.

"It seems your brother taught the prince his place." A voice whispered in his ear. Robb turned around and found the smiling face of Lyanna Stark. "Aunt Lyanna, I did not expect to see you hear. Shouldn't you be with father?" Lyanna's eyebrows furrowed.

"That was ten minutes ago Robb. I've been watching from the corner: Bran's fight with Prince Tommen and Jon and Joffrey. King Robert had been there to apologise on his rude behaviour, saying it was the drink. I don't believe it for a second. I don't know if this may happen but I'm honestly afraid that that drunken fool will come into my chambers the next time and attempt to take me by force."

"We won't let that happened aunty." Robb vowed. Lyanna smiled at him. "Thanks Robb I know you won't. You're too much your father's son." Arya tugged at Lyanna and she turned around to answer.

Robb turned back to find Jon close by the gate. He grinned at Robb and his purple eyes swirled with fire. That was the problem his mind had been over for the past few days. Robb smiled back but his thoughts were elsewhere. Robb glanced back and forth between Lyanna and Jon.

When Robb was seven, he had been moody. When his mother had asked why, it was because he was jealous of Jon – jealous that his brother had inherited most of his father's appearance and he had not. He did not mind that he looked like a Tully, but it had made him sad that a stranger might see him and mistake him for his grandfather's loins.

Cateyln had laughed and said that Jon looked more like his uncle Brandon and aunt Lyanna more than Eddard Stark. She had caught her words and flushed. It was that off-hand comment that Robb's mind, even at that age had begun to formulate. He had quietly observed his aunt and brother's relationship and had realised it was more than what it seemed.

He remembered when he and Jon had first learned to ride a mount. Eddard Stark's face had shone with pride as Robb reined his horse in. Everyone had rushed to Robb first to congratulate him, even though Jon had been a better rider. The two people who had gone to Jon were a visiting Howland and his aunt. His aunt's had been so affectionate that it had seemed very…motherly.

His suspicion could be wrong and Jon could really be his half-brother, but Robb doubted it every time he really considered. Robb stood silently as men swarmed around him to clap Jon on the back. He gazed into those purple eyes the colour of lilac. He could be a product of Ashara Dayne, but the Dayne eyes were violet, not true purple.

Robb needed more conclusive evidence, but he strongly believed that Jon Snow was the son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Even if he managed to confirm it, what would he do? He couldn't tell anyone besides his father or mother, or else he'd be responsible for ruining his brother's and aunt's life. Robb would not allow that to happen.

"Robb," he shook his head from the daze and grinned at Jon, who was leaning against the wooden gate tapping at his sword. "I beat that jerk. It was so easy; I thought I would die of boredom. For a royal prince he isn't that strong."

"You should have gotten that apology." "I wanted it in writing." Jon said. "I whispered that to him before letting him go back to playing with his golden hair." "True that." Robb muttered. "Good job, though it should have ended quicker." Jon punched his brother in the shoulder. Ghost barked in amusement and Jon shot him a look of understanding.

He inclined his head towards Lyanna and Arya. "Hello aunt, hey Arya, did you see me fight?" "You were great Jon," Arya nodded eagerly. Lyanna grinned and grinned back in agreement. "Too bad you couldn't hurt him. Not that I am for the violence against children." Lyanna murmured. "That little golden prick got a good beating, though I wish you could have bruised him up a whole lot more." Robb said. Jon laughed. "Your mother would have taken my hind along with Queen Cersei."

They all laughed.

A loud sound suddenly elapsed from behind them. Robb turned around with his family to find Prince Joffrey and most of the Lannister men clapping mockingly, the Hound excluded, while pointing and chuckling where Robb and his family were standing. Joffrey grinned with his perfect teeth, quite full of himself for a person who had been humiliated by a bastard.

"Congratulation Snow, you win. I _apologize _for insulting your mother, half-sister and yourself. Though I was only being honest when I spoke. Thinking about it, weren't you going to make me do more than apologize? Are you scared of me, Snow?"

"Honestly my prince, I don't deal with little children pretending to be something they are not," Jon replied. "You should go back to playing with wooden swords, your grace. It would not ruin your hair or hands."

Either Joffrey was too stupid to realize he was being insulted or simply ignorant. Robb thought it was a bit of both.

"I let you win obviously. Just like Robb."

"Really, because from here, it looked like you were getting your ass handed to you from both of my nephews," Lyanna Stark said before anyone could stop her. "I have to say I'm disappointed your grace. The son of the demon of the Trident, and yet I can bet anyone a golden dragon that Bran or even Rickon could beat you down without trouble." There was some nervous laughter from the Stark's.

Joffrey turned his attention to Robb's aunt and used his customary sneer, his voice laced with venom when he spoke next. "That's very funny, coming from a woman who spent a lot of the war which my brave father fought, for you, acting as a whore for Prince Rhaegar. I always wondered if he kept you for himself, or gave you around with his Kingsguard. You look like you've had experience in warming fiery beds, _my lady_."

Lyanna looked at Joffrey inquisitively. Robb fumed with fury. The insolent little shit was insulting his aunt for no good reason. Beside him, Grey Wind growled. Just because he was the prince did give him the right to say these things.

Joffrey continued while looking at the assortment of Lannister men and squires. Robb counted: Thirty-Nine. He quickly noted the Stark men on his side, around thirty-one. It was even odds and Robb knew if a fight broke out – it was inevitable – they would have a chance.

"I just realized that something you couldn't be a whore. Whores are paid to perform the duties of sex. My father always wondered if you willingly went with the prince. I apologize Jon, your mother is a maid compared to your aunt. Lyanna Stark must then be a slut. I wouldn't be surprised, considering the wolves Winterfell breeds."

He smirked and the Lannister laughed along with their prince.

Before he knew what he was doing, Robb fury surged as he jumped over the gate and strode towards Joffrey, with a furious Jon following on his tail. He knew he should not be doing this – his father would be disappointed and there was no honour. It was not normal for him. Robb would have no problem with the punishment he would likely get.

Jon caught up with Robb. "Let's get that little jerk."

Robb nodded. No one was going to make fun of his aunt. He advanced towards a startled Joffrey and caught him with a punch to the jaw, knocking him to the ground.

He vaguely recalled the others call out their names, while the other Stark men shamelessly cheered them on. Jon kicked him in waist while Robb bent down and struck the prince one, twice, three, four, five times across the face, slapping him as hard as he could. He sensed Grey Wind and Ghost around them, guarding them from the surprised Lannisters.

By the time Robb and Jon were done, Joffrey looked badly as Jon, probably even worse. Both of his eyes were swollen with one almost shut and his lips broken and bleeding Most of his face was completely swollen and puffy. Robb could tell they had broken a few of his bones, and for a sadistic moment was glad of it.

As Robb came to his sense, Jon was being restrained by Ser Rodrik as Robb realized he was being held by Theon. He tried to push him off, but Theon kept a tight grip.

"You're in deep shit Stark. We all are." Theon nodded in front of Robb.

The Lannister knights had drawn out their swords and were approaching them cautiously but in a hurried pace. The wooden gate had been broken down. A lean man of twenty came at Robb fast with his sword raised. Before Robb could react, _whoosh. _

"Aah!"

The knight cried out in pain as he looked down at the arrow that had struck into his lightly protected thigh. Robb looked around for the source and saw Lyanna Stark drawing an arrow and notching it through the string of her bow. Robb did not know where she had got it from. Had she already had it one her?

The Lannisters stopped abruptly before the knight, some crouching to see how he was. Robb was dimly aware of anything and he jolted when he heard what sounded to him like a battle cry. Theon gaped.

"Shit, Robb, Jon, move out of the way."

He grabbed Robb by the shoulder and pushed him hardly towards the edge of the fence. Jon joined him in a daze and it was then Robb realized what was transpiring.

Stark and Lannister men had moved around the courtyard swords drawn. They swarmed around each other as Prince Joffrey's barely conscious body was moved by three squires.

"ATTACK THE LIONS!" A Stark soldier yelled.

"BRING US SOME WOLF PELTS!" One of the opposition yelled back.

There was a loud general consent as they charged into each other and began their dances of steel. Robb watched as the grey and white pushed back the crimson lions, colours flying everywhere. The soldiers were smart enough not to kill each other, only causing wounds that would cause massive pains.

Robb noticed that the only a few Baratheon men were fighting with the Lannisters. The rest were running off to call the king. _Hurry, Robb thought, before someone dies. _

Theon knocked down a large lions while Ser Rodrik kept three knights as bay with to longsword. Arya had retrieved a short sword and slashed at a twelve year old squire, kicking him on the ground as Nymeria head charged an incoming Lannister. Robb saw his direwolf bite at a knight's leg. Ghost charged through the lines, jumped and bit the arm of a crimson soldier. The soldier screamed as Ghost barked. This fighting was pointless.

Jon stood next to Robb as they watched in sullen silence. The clash of the direwolf and the lion was tempered as the wolves used their territorial advantage to cause their enemy despair. Robb wanted to go in there and help, but Jon put a hand on his shoulder.

"We've already caused enough problems," Jon said simply. "And it looks like were winning."

Robb watched an arrow hit a Lannister who had tried to knock Arya down, the soldier falling. Robb looked at his aunt gratefully.

The Hound, who had been lazily defending his own position, came through the yard knocking heads and breaking arms. He came behind two Stark men and grabbed their necks. Jon yelled out and Robb bounced off his feet to stop him from-

"WHAT IN SEVEN HELLS IS GOING ON OVER HERE?!" A voice came from the entrance from the Great Keep. Robb spun around and to his relief and shame saw King Robert and fifty Baratheon men flanked around him in a protective way. His face was red as a tomato. Jon's face turned purple and he consciously touched the bruised side of his face. He saw his aunt Lyanna slowly place her bow down, looking at Robb and Jon with sad expressions. _Theon was right. We are so dead. _

King Robert strode into the middle of the courtyard and bellowed,

"Fighting? A full-blown fight in Winterfell? Are you serious? This was meant to be friendly sparring, not a goddamn battle. Your fighting has destroyed most of the yard!"

Robb's father came close behind and he gulped. He looked around the courtyard at the men and boys, disappointment clear. Many of the men saw and bowed their hands. No one would look into those cold eyes of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Followed closely was his mother and uncle Benjen, concerned. Jon rubbed his forehead.

"What has happened here? Who is responsible for all of this damage?" Lord Eddard asked calmly. Robb knew that his father was furious. There was a silence, everyone afraid to answer the question.

"You heard Lord Stark, yes?" King Robert yelled. "Or are you lions and wolves clogged in the ears? Who started this madness and when I-"

Robb slowly came forward.

"Father," a whimpering voice spoke audibly. The crowd of men moved aside to reveal Prince Joffrey Baratheon. His golden hair was a now a dark dirt of blonde and his green eyes darkened.

Robert recoiled. "Hell, what happened to your face, son?" Joffrey pouted. Jon murmured about wanting to smash his face.

"Father, I was having a friendly spar with Robb Stark when suddenly out of nowhere a bastard attacks me unprovoked. After I let him win-"

"That's not true," Arya said. "Jon beat you!" "Shush Arya, let the prince speak." Lord Eddard said.

"-they took it angrily over something I said. It was meant in complete trust and then they start attacking me like wild dogs. Our men were just defending me against these cretins." Joffrey straightened and smiled.

Eddard Stark and King Robert looked to the left and found their faces. They looked back at each other and Robb was certain he saw uncertainness. Robb sighed. "We are so screwed." Jon muttered. Robb had to agree.

Later, when everything had calmed down and the yard was partially repaired, Robb and Jon were brought before his uncle, his aunt and his mother and the king. Lord Eddard looked solemn, in fact they all looked solemn and grim and angry, and for a moment Robb feared that he would be executed for hitting the royal prince. They didn't seem to understand what had happened His aunt seemed distant and would not look Robb or Jon in the eye.

After awkward silence, Father was the one who spoke first. "Robb, Jon, I trust you understand why you have been brought here?" Jon nodded. "Yes father. We harmed Prince Joffrey and caused that fight." Robb answered, looking straight into father with his blue eyes.

King Robert sighed and looked from Jon to Robb. He had a sad look mixed with disapproval and respect. "That is good. Very well. From what Joffrey told me in privacy that you attacked him unprovoked and unrestrained, that no one stopped you from attacking like wild unchained wolves. He was quite upset." King Robert's mouth curdled in disgust. "My son can't even handle himself in a fight. Is his allegations true?"

Jon bristled, but it was Robb who answered. "That's not true sire. Prince Joffrey wanted to fight with live steel. When Ser Rodrik refused, he started attacking Jon and Arya, calling Jon's mother a Dornish harlot. Jon granted his request for a fight and he beat Joffrey fair and square. Joffrey proceeded to verbally abuse my aunt when she veered-" King Robert's face angered. "He did _what? What did he say?" _ Robb looked at his aunt but she refused to meet his eye.

"My king," Jon took it up. "Prince Joffrey called our aunt a whore as well, saying she ran off with the dragon prince and slept with him and the Kingsguard for free. We counted this as a direct insult to our family and we took matters into our own hands. I admit we should not have caused him that much damage, but honestly we not regret it."

He heard his mother gasp. Robb shot an apologetic look for the untactful way Jon was saying things, but she shook her head fiercely. Robert turned to face Lyanna. "Is this true Lya?" "Don't call me that," Lyanna said sharply, a stricken look on Robert's face. "But it is. I wish I could throttle your son myself. He's a royal prick." Lyanna Stark: an older Arya. Robb smiled despite himself.

Ned looked at the two of them and sighed. "So you're saying that all three of you are responsible?" Robb and Jon slowly nodded. Robb was ready to accept the consequences. King Robert looked thoughtfully at both of them, thought kept his gaze locked at Jon. Jon shifted uncomfortably next to Robb.

"Very well, Ned, I think everyone should share the blame. Joff will be punished I swear. I can't do anything now, but when we reach King's Landing I'll make sure he learns to keep his tongue to himself, that I swear. I am leaving your son's punishment to you."

Ned Stark considered both of them. "Robb, you are not allowed at the feast tonight and must help Maester Luwin and the kitchen servants for the remainder of the royal stay. Am I understood?" "Yes father," Robb replied, grateful for his leniency. It seemed King Robert and father believed them more than Joffrey.

"Jon, keep indoors for the rest of the royal stay. I don't want the prince or the queen causing distress. You are banned from coming on the hunt as well as the feast."

Robb protested, "That's not fair father." "Do you want a stricter punishment?" Lord Eddard asked. Robb shook his head. "As I thought," Lord Eddard said. "Jon, I'm doing this for your well being. Remember what we talked about earlier before King Robert and the procession came?" Robb did not know, but Jon nodded slowly. King Robert shot a questioning look at Father, but did not implore.

"I wish I had your sons Ned. They're much better than the ones Cersei Lannister bore me. At least yours can take from a fight. Joff can't even lift up a Baratheon hammer." King Robert sighed and looked at them. "Be thankful that it was us that dished out your punishment, not the queen. She probably would have had your limbs. I want to be fair to both of you. Especially you Jon. I still feel ashamed of how I acted. It's just that you look alike with a man I once fought, even with Ned's features." King Robert looked away.

And so it was that Jon was kept to his room, unable to leave unless it was for dinner or to take a crap. Though he knew Jon had sneaked up into the library once or twice. Ghost was his companion. Robb and Grey Wind came to visit often that day in between punishment chores, but Jon seemed more distant than ever and refused to talk. Robb saw him watching from the window with Ghost as the party left for the hunt. Jon did not seem to regret what they had done.

Robb had pretended to make false amends with Joffrey Baratheon, but deep down he knew he would always hate him. He would not serve this brat when he ascended to the throne – it was not possible. If he ever tried to do anything to Sansa, Robb would have his head.

The hunt left at dawn. The King wanted wild boar at the feast tonight. Prince Joffrey rode with his father and Robb kept a distance, staying with Uncle Benjen, Jory and Theon. Ser Rodrik rode with Ser Desmond and even Tyrion Lannister rode with them, talking with his father quietly. They rode out and the hunt was well. It was when they came back at dusk was when Robb heard the fateful new that he was not prepared to take.

**298 AL**

**Tyrion **

Tyrion Lannister looked up from his books and shivered. A wolf howled somewhere in Winterfell. He shut the leather-bounded cover on the historical text he had been reading throughout the night. His reading lamp flickered, its oil all but gone as dawn leaked through the windows.

He had been in the library all night, reading whatever he could. Before the fall of the Stark child, he had been talking with Jon Snow who had sat next to him in grim silence. He had heard about what happened in the courtyard, but did not ponder on it. Unlike Cersei, Tyrion believed Joffrey deserved what he got. He needed to be taught a sharp lesson.

They had talked later enthusiastically about history and personal observations on life. The boy knew what he was talking about, Tyrion noted fondly, possibly more than him in some aspects of history. From The Dawn Age, The Age of Heroes, The Andal Invasion and the Targaryen Conquest, Tyrion knew he had found someone special. Jon wasn't stupid or naïve as he had thought, though he had no experience of the world and its surroundings, of the terrible people it inhabited.

Tyrion wistfully wished that he had been born a northerner or even a Stark. Even though they seemed cold and distant, he knew they valued family more than anything and that was something he had always lacked in his life. He had asked Lord Stark about Jon and his mother, but the answers he received were short and brisk. He did not know why, but the boy was a fascination to him.

Tyrion had told him of his life as child at Casterly Rock, of how his father's and sister's cruelty and how he had found hope in the strangest places as well as support for his brother, his uncles and adventures. Jon had returned the favour with explanations on how Winterfell worked and his life inside its walls as well as carrying out duties with his lord father. Even being a bastard, Jon's life sounded a better experience than Tyrion's.

He wondered about Jon's mother. He had met Lady Ashara once and had found her a beautiful woman but with a lack of excitement or adventure he had heard of her before. They shared the same eyes – haunting and elegant.

He was surprised of how Lady Cateyln treated him – most women would have been cruel to the product of their husband's infidelity. Cateyln Stark seemed to treat Jon with the same love and respect as the children of her womb.

After gaping over Valyrian scrolls, Jon had left with a promise to visit him later to look over designs of the ancient First Men builders. That was not going to happen now, he knew. They had even shared a small flask of wine. Tyrion had Chayle pack Ayrmidon's carefully before he went outside.

He swallowed a lungful of the cold morning air and began his laborious descent of the steep stone steps. The rising sun had not cleared the walls of Winterfell, but the men were already hard at it repairing the damages sustained during yesterday's battle in the yard. He heard Sandor Clegane's rasping voice drift up to him.

"The boy is long time dying. I wish he would be quick about it." He did not like the sound of that.

Tyrion glanced down and saw the Hound standing with young Joffrey as the squires swarmed around them. The bruise's sustained on the prince's face had taken it's time, only finishing its course a few hours ago it seemed. Joffrey's eyes were deep and black, his cheeks and forehead purple and blue. It looked almost as grotesque as Tyrion that he almost laughed.

"At least he dies quickly," the prince replied. "It's the wolf that makes the noise. I could scare sleep last night."

"I could silence the creature, if it pleases you,"

The Hound said through the open visor. A squire placed a longsword in his hand. He tested the weight and sliced it on the cold morning air. The idea seemed to entertain and delight the prince.

"Send a dog to kill a dog!" he exclaimed like a puppy. "Winterfell is infested with so many that the Stark's would never miss one. You could also kill that bastard as well; it would be more of a service than a desire ridding Lord Stark of his dishonourable product. Why didn't you kill him yesterday?"

"I honestly do not want my head on a cold spike, your grace," The Hound answered.

Joffrey grinned. "Still, I should command you to kill those wolves. Both animals and the bastard. Sansa is a little disgusted at my face because of that cunt."

Tyrion hopped off the last step onto the yard. "I beg to differ, nephew," he said. "That little act of murder would bring too much attention and would certainly sour my day. I am quite fond of the lad and he certainly more able than you nephew. The Starks can count past six, unlike some princes I could name."

Joffrey blushed, though Tyrion could barely see with the layer of think bruises.

Tyrion continued.

"Joffrey, it is past time you called on Lord Eddard and his wife to offer them your condolences." His mother's influence was evident in the boy. Joffrey looked as petulant as only a spoiled brat could be.

"What good will my comforts do to them?"

"None what so ever," Tyrion admitted. "Yet it is expected of you. Your absence has been noted." Joffrey scoffed and turned to look back at the Hound.

"The Stark boy is nothing to me. I don't care if he lives or dies," Joffrey said. "I cannot stand the wailing of women."

As Joffrey looked back, Tyrion reached up and slapped his nephew hard across the face, right where his bruise was. The boy cried out in sharp pain as held onto his cheek, tears brimming in his eyes. _ So Robb Stark and Jon Snow did give him a real beating. Tyrion thought. Good, he probably did deserve it. _

"One word," Tyrion said softly. "And I'll hit you again."

"I'm telling Mother!"

Tyrion hit him again.

He saw a single tear drop down as Joffrey cupped his cheek.

"Go, tell her," Tyrion told a buzzing Joffrey. "But first you'll fall on your knees in front of them and tell them how sorry you are. That you are at their service and all your prayers are with them. Am I understood? And don't you ever dare again make fun of anyone crippled or bastard or trueborn."

Joffrey remained stubborn. "You can't do this." Tyrion slapped the boy prince for the third time and backed two steps as the boy fell against the stone wall.

"_Am I understood?" _Tyrion snapped. The boy looked as though he was going to cry. Instead he gave a weak nod and fled headlong from the yard, holding his already bruised face.

Tyrion watched his nephew go. _May the old gods and the new save us all when Joffrey ascends to the throne? _At least Robert was predictable and stupid. Joffrey was only the later with a few footsteps away from sanity.

A shadow fell across his face. He found Clegane looming overheard almost similar to his brother, though not as fearsome as the Mountain. "The prince will remember that my lord," the Hound warned.

"I pray he does," Tyrion Lannister replied. "Should he forgot, be a good dog and remind him." He walked away.

Tyrion found his siblings and other relatives in the Guest House where a cheerless breakfast awaited for him. Jaime, Cersei and her children were talking in low, hushed voices. He ordered a boy a custom breakfast. Jaime turned to face him and smiled. Tyrion stood behind Prince Tommen and moved the young boy to the right of the bench, laughing as he boy giggled. "Little brother." Jaime said, grinning.

"My beloved siblings," Tyrion said, smiling at both of them and his relatives. His sister peered at him with an expression of faint distaste. No surprise there.

Tommen passed him a plate of bread and Tyrion ruffled his blonde hair. "Where's King Robert?"

"With Lord Eddard to comfort him with his sorrow," Cersei told him. Prince Tommen spoke up.

"Is Bran going to die, Uncle?"

"I stopped by the sickroom last night," Tyrion announced, looking at his siblings.

"The Maester seems to think he'll wake, though there is no change."

"I don't want Bran to die." Tommen said timorously. Sweet boy little Tommen. Not like his parents.

"It seems the name Brandon is unlucky these few generations." Jaime mused.

"Maybe not," Tyrion said. The servant brought his plate and he chewed on some bacon.

"The maester thinks the may yet live." He took a sip of beer.

Myrcella gave a happy gasp and Tommen smiled. It was not them that Tyrion watched. The glance that passed between Cersei and Jaime was more than a millisecond, but Tyrion could not miss it. Cersei dropped her gaze. "That is not mercy if he is going to be crippling."

"Will Bran get better, Uncle?" Myrcella Baratheon asked.

"His back is broken, little one," Tyrion explained. "The fall shattered his legs as well. They keep him alive with honey and wine. He'll never be able to walk again."

The queen shuddered. Tyrion started on his fish. "When are you leaving?" "Probably in a few hours or so," Cersei said. Then she frowned. "When are_ we_ leaving?" she echoed. "What about you? Please tell me you're not considering staying _here?" _

_That desperate for me gone, are we Cersei?_

Tyrion shrugged. "Benjen Stark is returning to the Night's Watch. His sister is accompanying him and I want to go with them and see this great Wall we have heard about?"

"Yes, Lyanna Stark. That she-wolf female dog." Cersei muttered with a hateful passion. "Have you had to talk to her?" Tyrion asked.

"Yes, it was horrible. I was forced to act like I cared for her well being and ask her questions in courtesy." "Why do you not like Lady Lyanna, mother," Prince Tommen asked. "She is very fun and a great lady to be around."

"Tommen, stay away from her. I don't want that she-wolf contaminating your mind with northerner nonsense." Cersei was still jealous of Lady Lyanna, even if she had found someone else to snuggle next to at night. It seemed she had a right of it, considering what drunken Robert had done a few days ago.

"I thought Ned Stark's bastard would have ridden off with them. It would be the perfect time considering he is approaching manhood and would not inherit anything." Jaime noted.

"The boy is staying at Winterfell helping his half-brother manage the incomes of the castle. Apparently he is highly skilled in mathematics. A talent which not even the royal prince shares." Tyrion nodded at Cersei. She bristled.

"You seem to be spending quite a lot of time with that bastard boy in the library." Cersei said. "We share interests that we entertain your feeble mind, sweet sister," Tyrion smiled. "Why are you so interested anyway? Is it because he beat Joffrey black and blue?"

"So did Robb Stark." Jaime added. "They did pretty good jobs. He looks like a real man now." Tyrion said.

Cersei looked at him sharply and spoke. "If it had been me, I would have taken both their left hands off. I must say that Jon Snow is different than manner bastards I have unwillingly able to see. What make me curious about him are his eyes. They remind me of someone I knew long time ago-"

Jaime stiffened slowly, some sort of understanding on his face, and jealousy flashed in his eyes with curiosity. Tyrion did not understand.

"We did meet Ashara Dayne, remember?" Tyrion cut in. "I seem to remember you telling Joffrey she was a slut even if she was more courteous that you could possibly be. That was not appreciative Cersei. I want to guide the boy however I can. Jon Snow at least is a good person to be around. He would do well in capital with the right guidance of court, but calling his mother a whore as well is still beneath you."

"Language." Cersei said.

"You have a crush Tyrion on the fair lady? I remember you both struck up a friendship? So you fell for her beauty?" Jaime smiled lazily.

"Who wouldn't? Though not that fair, considering she was impregnated by Brandon Stark and Eddard Stark." Cersei stood abruptly.

"The children don't need to hear this. Tommen, Myrcella, come. Jaime, come to me later. I need to talk to you." She strode briskly from the morning room with her children trailing behind.

Jaime Lannister regarded his brother thoughtfully. "Stark will never consent to leave Winterfell with his son in the shadow of death. And what is with Lyanna Stark going to the Wall. They do not accept females."

"Unlike most women, Lyanna Stark is much more adventurous and fierce and a smarter person than most. She apparently has a few friends she would like to see. She is more of a pleasure to be around than her siblings. Able to speak for herself and mind her own business." Tyrion said.

He had a fondness for Lyanna Stark. The pain she must have went through after the rebellion… and how she handled it. She was one of the only females who did not revolt at the sight of him.

"Your ideal wife Tyrion?" "Maybe," he said.

"You know, Lord Eddard could end the boy's torment. It would be mercy."

"I advise against putting that suggestion to Lord Stark, brother. He would not take it kindly." Tyrion said. "Even if the boy does live, he'll be a cripple."

"He could still manage," Tyrion pointed out.

"I hope the boy does wake. I would be most interested to hear what he might have to say." His brother's smile curdled like sour milk.

"My dear brother, sometimes you make me wonder whose side you are on." Jaime said darkly.

Tyrion swallowed the food in his mouth with beer, and grinned wolfishly at Jaime. "My dear brother you wound me. You know how much I love my family. I would just like some answer to my questions, that's all."

**298 AL**

**Jon **

His punishment had been forgotten. A heavy heart weighed Jon as he watched the king's procession leave. To him it felt like the King had come to Winterfell and had taken everything bare: Father, Arya and even Sansa would not be here anymore with the family he considered his own. He had given Needle to Arya, a skinny sword for her skinny stature, and he knew he would miss mussing her hair and laughing with Robb, Theon and she like old times.

Jon, Robb and a few other of the household sent off their uncle Benjen, aunt Lyanna and Tyrion Lannister. Lady Cateyln was locked in Bran's room taking care of his brother. Jon had visited numerous times with Ghost and felt great sadness and confusion as he watched his young brother. He had no idea how Bran had fallen – Jon could not entertain the idea he had fallen, Bran never fell. He suspected foul play but could not act on this. Who would do this to a poor, innocent boy?

He gripped his uncle Benjen by the arm, promising to visit the Wall when the time was right with Robb. Benjen had merely smiled and hugged him tightly. He had hugged his aunt hard before releasing, telling her to come back home soon. He still did not understand why she would want to visit the Wall, but he let it be. She had his uncle to protect her from the few lechers on the Black. She had kissed him on the forehead and saddled on her horse.

When he came to Tyrion, he gave him the book he had wanted: _"The Ancient Untempered Journals of the Old Kings of Winter,"_ by Lucien Blackmount. Tyrion had thanked him eagerly.

"You have been a good friend Jon," Tyrion said, shaking his hand. "One of the only few I have who do not get paid from my father's purse."

"Come and visit as often as you can Tyrion," Jon said. "If times had been different…" "I understand. I'll send a raven when I reach the Wall."

"And when you do that, could you look into the matter I asked, with the Lord Commander?" "Of course," Tyrion said. "It sounds a bit ridiculous and a childlike obsession, but I will do as you request."

"Jon," Tyrion started after a moment's silence. Jon looked down.

"Be…careful around Winterfell. I think, though do not know, my sister has taken an interest in you for some reason I do not know. She may have deployed spies to watch over you." Jon frowned. "Why would she do that? Is it because of what Robb and I did?"

"I don't know," Tyrion replied. "It's just that you remind of her of someone…" Tyrion trailed off, but Jon did not inquire who. Jon patted the Imp on the back.

"I'll be careful."

"Goodbye friend." Tyrion smiled at Jon and saddled on his horse with the help of his guard. Lyanna Stark watched the exchange with faint amusement.

His purple eyes flickered with blankness as he watched everyone leave. He could not think straight. Many things had transpired which he could not comprehend: Father leaving with Arya and Sansa, the Lannisters, his uncle, the Imp, the fight, King Robert. Jon's face was still puffy from when Robert had beaten him.

He was brought back to reality by the sound of his brother sighing, turning round he saw Robb had a rather gloomy expression on his face, Jon raised an eyebrow in question and Robb said,

"Mother's still in Bran's room. I don't know what she expects to happen; Maester Luwin has said that the worst has passed so it's up to the gods now."

"It's her second son Robb," Jon said. "If it had been us she would have done the same."

"I know," Robb said. "It's Rickon I'm worried about he doesn't understand what's happening or why everyone's going. I don't want him upset."

"I'll take care of him," Jon said immediately. "You take care of Winterfell. I'll help you out when Rickon is quiet." Robb nodded gratefully.

He hoped Lady Cateyln would come back out of her troubles. Rickon needed her.

For three days, Jon spent most of his time helping Robb run Winterfell. He supplied Robb with the necessary information of income, as Robb himself was hopeless at numbers just like Lord Eddard. He also kept vigil and played over with Rickon, who allowed Shaggydog his direwolf to play with Ghost. Jon even took him to the godswood to pray. He loved his baby brother and could not blame him for being angry of stubborn at the lack of his mother's attention. He was only four. Robb and Jon were handling themselves well with Theon, Ser Rodrik and the household of Winterfell, though they needed her help now than ever.

Jon spent his spare time either sparring with the men or in the library. He had initially looked into medical documents to see any way to cure Bran of his ailment but alas to no avail. After giving up, he continued to read books on history, strategically written guides and myths and legends, some of which Old Nan had told him long ago. A sudden thought entered his mind. He found a book called **_The Long Night _**and began to read:

_According to legends, in the midst of this darkness a race of apparent demons, called the others, emerged from the uttermost north, the polar regions of the Lands of Always Winter. They were wielding razor-thin swords of ice and raising the dead to fight the living. The children of the forest and their allies, the First Men, fought valiantly against them, but were driven southwards by their advance._

_The others were eventually founded a weakness when it was discovered that weapons made of dragon glass could kill them. A great hero, who in the eastern tradition is known as Azor Ahai, led the war against the others wielding his sword of fire, Lightbringer, driving the others back. In the Westerosi tradition, he may be known as the last hero._

_The Wall was raised by Brandon the Builder using magic of the First Men to ensure that the White Walkers did not threaten the kingdoms of Westeros again. The Night's Watch was established at this time to stand watch on the Wall and protect the people from the threat that lay to the north. _

Jon rubbed his forehead. The deserter could have been telling the truth. Jon turned a few more pages until he found what he was looking for:

**_The Others or White Walkers_**

**_History _**

_The others first appeared approximately 8,000 years before War of Conquest, during a winter that lasted a generation and a period of darkness known as the Long Night. Eventually they were defeated, supposedly by the Night's Watch and The Wall is said to have risen as a defense against them as stated in the previous chapter. The legend of the Night King states that he married a White Walker for reasons unknown. _

**_Appearance and Characteristics _**

_They are said to appear tall and gaunt with eyes lie blue stars, according to legend. The Others appear to be superior swordsmen, wielding thin crystal swords said to be so cold as to shatter any object they touch. Their language is unknown, although it has been speculated that it may be the Old Tongue. _

_The old stories reveal uncertainty whether the others come when it is cold or that it becomes cold when they appear, during snowstorms or mist and melt away when the skies clear. They hide from the light of the sun and emerge at night; although once again some stories claim that their coming brings the night. There are tales of others riding the corpses of dead animals such as bears, direwolves, mammoths, and horses. This is entirely theoretical, but possible. _

_Wights are dead men or creatures raised up by the others, seemingly when touched by the cold that accompanies them. They are thralls to the others. Men who fall in battle against the Others must be burned, or else the dead will rise again as their thralls. They-_

Jon widened his eyes as he read over what he thought he had seen. The deserter, Jon now believed he was being true on hat he had told them-warned them. It was so clear: The White Walkers. _Wait, what are you thinking Snow, Jon thought, calm yourself _

He smelt something that seemed oddly like smoke coming through the room but thought nothing of it, someone must have left a candle on for too long and it had probably burnt out. What he was reading now could be gold if he proved it correct. What would he do? He had to tell Robb and they could raise men to help scout north of the wall for the others. If this was real, the threat needed to be stopped.

The smell of smoke was getting stronger now. A worried Jon stood up and walked toward the door to see if something was amiss. Before he could get to the door, he felt a strong blast of fire knock him back. Fire? Where the hell did that come from? Before Jon could look, a beam collapsed from the ceiling sending tiles of fire down onto the floor. It was getting harder to breathe now, the smoke was filling his lungs and the orange flames were dancing in front of his eyes. Jon looked around for Ghost, but then realised he was with Grey Wind.

He looked up and saw fire engulfing the entire room. Strangely, it did not seem to be affecting him as much as he thought. Behind the burning door, Jon could hear muffled voices yelling. It sounded queer in his ears. The door burst open in flame and Jon realised his way out was blocked. He thanked the gods that he was the only one in the library. His bruises stung from the caught flame

Jon felt the smoke and the heat of the fire attempt to enter his nose, and he realised he had to get out quickly before he passed out. The only way Jon could see was blocked by fire. Jon paused as the books burned and shelves collapsed to the grey floor of ash. Fire. Not debris or anything. Jon knew from a book that if he could storm through the fire as fast he could, then he would not suffer much burns.

Jon stepped back slowly careful to avoid the hissing of the fire and ran. He entered the flame and was close when his foot caught against something. _Shit. Jon thought _as he fell down head first.

Jon screamed for a long time, but it was not in pain. It was in pure terror of being inside the naked flame. He did not want to die in the fire. Jon quickly scrambled up and jumped through the door entrance as a big chunk of charred debris fell from the ceiling, blocking the way out. He had jumped just in time.

In front of him were Robb and Winterfell guards, who stared at Jon in complete horror. Jon looked over himself and yelped as he realised he was naked. He covered his manhood with his legs, almost blushing despite the circumstances.

"Jon," Robb stuttered. "Jon…look…at you. You're not hurt. Nothing! You just…walked through the flames. By the old gods, like a miracle. You should be dead!

Jon looked down at his arms and found in great dread on what wrong. Ghost jumped from Robb's side and pounced to Jon, sniffing at his arms and bare legs. "Ghost, please." Jon whimpered. His body, legs, arms, head, hair, all unscathed. Just ash and a warm sensational feeling. He had been caught in that flame for almost a minute and he was safe. That was the problem.

_Oh by the gods. The fire…I'm not burnt or anything!_ It was too much for Jon to take. He should be dead, but he felt fine. More than fine in fact: alive. The smoke and dust clouded his vision as he began to waver. Robb yelled orders to his men, but Jon's head found the ash driven floor before the darkness overcame him. He saw Ghost snuffle him anxiously.

In his dreams, Jon saw only white. And then, scenes played out before him that he did not recognize:

_A dragon of black-and-red-and-grey flew in air; its wings flapped the size of an inn. A tall, muscular man with brown hair and purple eyes rode on its back, a crown of seven blades resting on his curls. The man held a bastard sword of Old Valyria in his right hand as Aegon the Conqueror once wielded before, and let fire loose on the lions, roses and stags beneath his view. _

_A wolf and a jumping trout in the mouth slowly approached a grand bridge, it beckoning the two closer with a promise. The bridge creaked in anticipation as they made their first step. _

_A beautiful maid of ten thousand years was being ravaged by five men…later joined by six as two of the men fell from their grace. _

_A beautiful prince of silver fought the large stag, whispering the words of a women who Jon faintly recalled knowing. The prince called out for his love and their child as the stag impaled the silver prince with its antlers, the red and silver dragon erupting from chest and flying off in the south_

_The same man appears in the next scene with a pretty woman with kind dark eyes and olive skin. She held a babe in which Jon longed to know. The man looked at him and pointed, his dark indigo eyes unwavering: "The Dragon must have Three Heads."_

_They were armored all in ice, but the beautiful dragon of silver-and-purple with the rightful heir bathed them in dragon-fire and they melted away like dew. A spear struck through one of them, though Jon could not tell. _

_"The Dragon King!" "The Dragon King!" "The Grey Dragon of Westeros!" "Long live King Jon!" _

_The Black Dragon clashed with a grand Red Dragon. The Black Dragon launched forward, its large jaws snapping as it flew towards the red dragon._

_Swords clashed in red as the coldness broke through, and the chill that blasted the soldier came through his throat as he rose from the bottom pits of the seven hell's to fight in the Snow._

_The final scene Jon saw was of a wolf in the shape of a human surrounded by the corpses of dead men, being attacked in all directions by a lion, and a stag. At the last moment, the dragon flew and breathed the fires of death, but by then it was too late. _

**_Thanks for reading. Next chapter will have Tyrion visiting Winterfell, a few King's Landing business and Robb's march to the capitol. Most of the action in the next few chapters will start getting into War of Five Kings prelude. Please review and volunteer for being a beta reader. I actually have no idea how that works so someone please explain. Thanks. _**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Thanks for sticking around with this story. I had to split the chapter into two parts because it was too long.**_

**Jon - Winterfell**

When Jon came back to consciousness, the first feeling he experienced as he awoke was a soft thudding pain inside his head, beating at his skull like a raving prisoner pleading for mercy. Jon opened his eyes slowly and his face stung in slow barring pain, and winced. He immediately began searching out the imperfections of the ceiling – the cracks in the plaster and the blistering paint that had become familiar in fifteen years.

He lifted his head and shook it slightly, shaking off the clouds swirling around him. At first he there was confusion on where he was, but found that he was in his chambers. Gods, that fire. I still remember everything. He looked at the foot of his bed and saw Ghost curled protectively, as if daring anyone to enter. He smiled at his wolf and reached down to scratch behind his ears.

He pulled him arms out beneath the heavy furs that acted as his cover and stretched them over his head, grunted with exertion, and then let them fall limply to his sides. He wasn't especially stiff – a good sign.

Jon heard a small gasp on his right and turned to find his half-brother Robb Stark seated from a chair next to him. His blue eyes were filled with joy as he looked at him, concern a mask on his face. Looking at Robb this close, it seemed he had just come out of a nap. "You're awake. God's, we all thought you were dead!"

"Thanks for your optimism," Jon replied and tried to lift his body up from the bed. He groaned in pain and fell back, feeling suddenly exhausted. He could feel his body burning in intense heat but strangely it did not bother him as much. It was as if he welcomed it. "I feel so drowsy."

"Do you...remember what happened?" Robb asked.

Jon nodded slowly. "There was a fire in the library tower which almost engulfed the entire room I was in. That's really all I can recall."

That was a lie. The thing Jon remembered most clearly from that event had been being caught in that flame, thinking he was going to burn to death alive, never able to see his family and friends again. And then nothing. No burns, no wounds, practically unscathed. In fact, Jon Snow had never felt better after exiting that fire than he had ever been in his life. It haunted his mind.

Robb frowned and looked at Jon questioningly, right into his purple eyes. Jon felt queer by this. "Don't you remember...stumbling while storming out of that room? Being caught in the fire as you stumbled?"

"If I was in that fire, wouldn't I be a charred corpse instead of a barely alive fifteen year old?"

"Not funny Snow," Robb said. "This is serious. Bloody hell, when I saw you come out of that flame naked I was in disbelief. You were intact and unlike anything I had ever seen. Theon called it "fucking good luck" while Ser Rodrik said it was a miracle. I saw what happened. You were ok and it scared me. You didn't even lose any of your hair!"

Jon ran a hand through the thick brown curls consciously.

Jon wished to change the subject, feeling uncomfortable. He did not want to discuss this with Robb, not now. "What I don't understand is how the fire started. Do you find the source?"

At that Robb's face twisted from happiness to disgusted anger. He flicked away a strand of his long auburn hair. Jon noticed for the first time how tired Robb looked. He felt sorry for his older half-brother.

"Someone hired an assassin to murder Bran in his coma. The assassin used a Valyrian steel knife to try and kill our little brother. Mother stopped the bastard and Bran's direwolf ripped his throat out."

Jon felt a cold chill go through him as he fell into shock. "What the hell? So the assassin used the fire as a distraction?" Robb nodded.

"That's what we believe." "Are Bran and Lady Cateyln OK? Are they hurt?"

Robb hesitated before answering. "Bran is fine though his condition is the same. Mother…she tried to stop the blade and it-"

"Oh my gods, did he kill her?" Jon asked in dread.

Robb shook his vigorously. "Do you really think I would be this calm if my mother was dead? The blade injured mother's hands and she had lost some use of her fingers – but otherwise she is fine. Shaken, but in good health."

Jon nodded gratefully. He thanked the old gods that they had kept his brother and step-mother safe. "Have you found any details on whom the assassin was and who hired him for the hit?"

Robb was silent before answering which forebode something wrong for Jon. "Mother and I believe that the group behind the attempted murder of Bran were in fact the Lannisters. You know more about Valyrian steel than anyone Jon, how expensive and rare it is to find. On the assassin's corpse we found a bag of fifty gold dragons. The man was a very poor commoner. Would you think he would keep that blade for himself instead of selling it on the market?"

_The Lannisters, I can't believe it. It must have been either the queen or her brother. I know Tyrion would never do this. _Jon was certain on this fact. He had really only known the Imp for around five days, but they had formed a close friendship.

"That's an insane accusation Robb. Even if it were true, what proof to do we have? The Lannisters are the wealthiest family in Westeros and probably have more influence than the Baratheon's. It could have been someone else for all we know."

Robb face suddenly dropped. "When the royal family was here, Father and Mother received a letter from the Vale. What I'm about to show you must stay between us. Only Theon, Ser Rodrik, Maester Luwin, mother and I know of this."

Robb reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter. He held it in front of his face. "During King Robert's stay at Winterfell, Mother was sent a letter by my aunt, Lysa Arryn. The letter was written in a code that the Tully sister's had used when they were little. My mother burnt the original copy for fear of the Lannisters, but she wrote everything she could remember down on this parchment on record."

Robb handed Jon the letter and he unfolded the paper and began to read the neat handwriting of Cateyln Stark.

As Jon eyes scanned through the message, he could hardly believe what he was reading. Every word he read increased the worry growing in him. He let the letter drop to his lap as he looked at Robb, stunned. "Gods, Jon Arryn…the hand of the king and Father's foster brother. He was…"

"…murdered," Robb finished. "Aunt Lysa suspects the Lannisters poisoned her husband because he was coming closer to a truth that she or any of her allies are aware of at the moment. She cautions us to be wary of them."

_I know, I can read Robb. _He appreciated his brother summarizing what he had just read though. It had taken some edge of the conflicted feelings of surprise, shock and anger that circled inside him. Robb got up and placed the letter into the fire. Jon watched it burn.

And then suddenly it hit him like lightning. "Robb, father, Arya, Sansa and our friends went in King's Landing, right into the pit of the lion's den. We have to warn them to be careful."

"Mother is going to go to the capitol with Ser Rodrik to warn Father and tell him what we suspect. She has a friend, the Master of Coin, who she thinks she can pull in a favour. She's packing her things now. Though I wish we could just send a raven to King's landing instead of her leaving."

"Too risky," Jon said. "Someone loyal to the Lannisters or even the Baratheon's could intercept the message and warn the king or queen before we can relay it to father. Tyrion warned me that the queen might have spies in Winterfell."

"Wait, what? Why would she keep spies out all the way in the north?"

"Apparently she was interested in me because of either what I did to Joffrey or something else…something I don't know of." _Could it be to do with my mother? It seems like Cersei Lannister hates her enough to maybe attempt to gain enough leverage. I have no idea._

Robb tilted his head in interest though did not say anything.

"Why hasn't Lady Cateyln left yet? I know Bran is still comatose but haste would be much preferable in this predicament." Jon asked.

Robb smiled. "Mother told us the day after the attack and we thought she would ride for the south immediately, but she removed herself after resigning Bran would indeed get better and came to watch over you."

"Me?"

"Yes you genius. She fussed over your wellbeing and health for three days. "Three days?" Jon repeated. "That means I've been unconscious for four days!"

"Correct sleeping beauty," Robb grinned. "Mother was frantic as hell. She was saying that she couldn't afford to lose two sons and was quite protective over you. Only Ghost was allowed in your room."

Jon smiled fondly. "That's so sweet." Not for the first time, Jon wished that he had been born from Lady Cateyln's loins instead of Ashara Dayne.

"Then something strange happened. You started shaking in your sleep uncontrollably as if you were having a fit. Your body began to heat up and it felt like you were burning up. You were groaning as if you were in pain and we thought you were dying. We placed towels of cold water over your body but it didn't seem to work. And then, it stopped after almost six hours."

Jon shivered, because he knew exactly what had caused this. The nightmares – no, the visions – he had experienced during that sleep. Those terrible, vivid dreams that had seemed so prophetic that it made Jon dread the future.

The scenes he had been shown had disturbed him. The giant dragon and that man riding it burning the field of men, it had looked almost like him. What had scared him the most was the last scene, where the young wolf that had fought the lions and stags seemed…to have had Grey Wind's head and Robb's body. He had thought the head had been sewn on, but it looked like an unnatural abomination. He shuddered at that thought.

Robb didn't seem to notice and was grinning. "She even made you this. She told me to give it to you after you awoke since she is leaving." Ghost head perked up curiously. When Jon saw what it was, he laughed.

In Robb's hands was a white woollen beanie. Jon took it from Robb and examined it. On the front stitched was the Stark sigil of a direwolf, though the colours were red and black. Jon looked at quizzically. Where did those colours come from?

He put it over his head. A perfect fit. Robb laughed as Jon admired the winter hat though his smile seemed strained.

"You look good, Snow. That hat makes your ugly grim face shine,"

"Ah, thanks Stark. You're just jealous that Lady Cateyln didn't make you one. Worried that 'll be the new favourite," Jon teased.

Robb smiled faintly and playfully punched Jon in the shoulder, which pretended to be hurt. "Lady Cateyln got the colours wrong though. It's grey and white, not red and black. Wonder why she did that?"

As Jon adjusted the beanie, Robb's face dropped into seriousness.

"Jon, while you were asleep there was trouble on the road involving the royal procession."

"What, what happened?" Jon asked, not liking how Robb sounded that sentence. Jon went back down on his bed.

Robb began scratching his chin. "From what I can gather from father raven, Prince Joffrey that royal upstart prick and Sansa were having a stroll when they came across Arya and a butcher's boy who were sparring with wooden swords. Arya was bruised and Prince Joffrey thought that the boy had hurt her intentionally when all she wanted was to learn how to fight. Joffrey cut the boy on the cheek with Lion Tooth and Arya disarmed him, knocking the sword into the Trident."

Jon let out a snort. _How embarrassing Joff? A ten-year old knocking you down. And that sword! _

"What's so bad about that?" Jon asked.

"It gets worse. Nymeria attacked Joffrey and almost maimed his hand. Arya and Nymeria both ran off to hit while Sansa stayed with Joffrey. After four days of searching, Arya was found by Jory but she was brought directly to King Robert. Father came to the audience chamber nearby Castle Darry and comforted a crying Arya, and then demanded to know why Arya was not brought to him first. King Robert explained that he wanted to finish this matter quickly.

"The queen accused Arya and the butcher's boy ambushing Joffrey with clubs while setting Nymeria to tear off his arm. When Joffrey affirmed this, Arya called him a liar."

_The bastard is a liar. Good on you Arya. Jon thought. _

"Father reminded the king about Sansa and she was brought it to testify. Sansa…Sansa, she said she could not remember." Robb told him.

"Why the hell would she say that? She knew that really happened!" Jon asked.

"I have no clue. I was disappointed at her when reading this. Her love for the prince is blinding the truth. Anyway, Arya lunged at Sansa. The queen wanted to punish Arya but King Robert grew exasperated. She demanded that Nymeria be killed and offered a hundred golden dragons for her pelt."

_That bitch. _

"Before all that, Arya had run off Nymeria since she knew her direwolf might be killed. Since Nymeria herself wasn't in the present camp, Cersei called for the skin of other direwolf. Father tried to get King Robert to execute to wolf the northern way, but _our king _only walked away. The headsman was called to kill Lady, but father refused and did it himself, because Lady was of the north and deserved better."

"By the gods, why the hell did King Robert do that? Lady didn't do anything!" Jon exclaimed.

"I know and that's what Sansa and Arya said. Can you only imagine what our aunt would have done is she had been present?"

Despite the circumstances, Jon smiled at that dangerous thought. Instead of a letter about Lady's death, they would have news of regicide.

Robb continued. "After the deed had been done, Father commanded four of his men to return Lady to Winterfell for burial. Cersei Lannister will never have her skin." Robb stopped. "That's something I suppose. What father did, I hope I'll have the will to carry out when I inherit Winterfell."

Jon had to admit through the silence that followed that Robb was a good storyteller, just like Father when he had them gathered around the cold fires with Old Nan – though no one could beat her. "It must be hell for those two."

"Sansa and Arya are not speaking to each other and father does not know what to do." Robb sighed.

"I suppose Father did try his best to stop King Robert." Jon said. He pushed off the heavy furs and sat up. "When is Lady Cateyln leaving?"

"In a few hours," Robb answered.

"Has aunt Lyanna come back from the wall?" Something played on Robb's blue eyes that Jon made him feel uncomfortable. He had been seeing this expression for the past few weeks. "No."

He stood up and Jon watched him walk back to his door. "When you're feeling better, come to the Great Hall. We still have much to do."

After that enlightening conversation, he pulled back the blankets and sat upright, throwing his bare feet over the side of the bed. Yellow sunlight sneaked into the room from beneath the drawn window shade. It looked like a nice day, in more ways than one.

Jon looked around his room. To the right was a wardrobe filled with his summer and winter clothes, which to his amusement were almost identical except for the thickness of furs and long sleeves and a bookshelf with neatly applied books on different things. On the walls of his room were paintings of the different historical people he looked up to.

In no order: Aegon the Conqueror for his conquest of Westeros, Aemon the Dragonknight for his skill as a warrior, Daeron the Young Dragon, Bran the Builder, Jaehaerys the Conciliator, Lann the Clever, Cregan Stark and Daeron the Second. The Targaryens had a lot of inspiration for Jon on the way they handled themselves – the choices they made which affected people big or small. They went mad in the end, but before that it was like a second unofficial age of heroes.

He shuffled across his room towards the door and turned the knob, exciting the room and heading for his younger's brother's room. Cateyln was no present but that was not why he had come. He crossed the room and took his brother's hand. It felt fingers the bones of birds.

Bran still was comatose and did not look better. This was not the adventurous little brother he remembered. The flesh had all gone from him. His skin stretched tight over bones like sticks. Under the blanket, the way his legs were bent continued to make Jon feel sick. His eyes were closed now, not like the deep back pits he had before seen. The fall had shrunken him somehow. Jon could still see his chest rise and fall with a shallow breath, giving him hope.

Jon realised that over Bran's auburn hair he was wearing a beanie similar to Jon, except his direwolf was grey with a white background.

"Bran, I'm sorry," he said, "You're getting better I know. Please, don't die. We all so worried for you. Robb, your mother, father, the girls, everyone…" Jon could say no more without crying. If he had not caused that scuffle in the yard, he could have watched over his brother. He could have stopped whatever – or whoever – made him fall.

Jon turned to leave and was not surprised to find his step-mother at the entrance of Bran's room. At her feet was the single case of clothes she had for her ride to the capitol. She looked so much better and her eyes vibrated with life, not the cold, lifeless body he had comforted before the fire.

"Jon," she whispered softly. "Robb said you were awake. And I see your wearing my beanie I made for you." Jon tugged at the woollen cloth. "Thank you mother, it was very kind though I wonder about the colours. Red and black don't suit the Starks."

Cateyln came forward and embraced him rather fiercely. "When your father comes back, he and I will explain. It's time you knew about who you really are." _What does she mean by that? Jon thought. _

"You know I'm-"

"Going to the capitol, I know," Jon squeezed the one of the only mothers he had known tightly. He did not want to let go but he released the suddenly small woman. "Be careful, my lady. Don't do anything rash and talk with Lord Stark first. If the Lannister were responsible, the North will fight them."

Cateyln smiled. "Please, look after Bran. If he wakes, explain where I've gone."

"Of course my lady," Jon assured. Cateyln reached up and took of his beanie, and ruffled his hair for old time's sake. "Goodbye Jon," she said, kissing his forehead. She took her bag and left the room. Jon stood there in silence, holding the beanie in his hands.

The days that followed Jon spent with Robb overseeing the running of Winterfell and its incomes. His face cleared of bruising and he sparred with Theon and Ser Rodrik. Jon continued to keep an eye on Rickon who eventually came to follow Jon around Winterfell along with Shaggydog. It was only a week after Lady Cateyln had left when Bran woke up.

Jon had been in his room reading when a black haired woman had run down the corridor and stopped at the edge of his entrance. "Brandon's awake! He's awake!" She had then run down the steps shouting those words. Jon had flung his book aside and almost stumbled getting off his chair. As he burst into Bran's room, he saw his brother on the bed with Bran's large direwolf enfolding him on his legs. The window was open and it was cold in the room.

Jon stood by Bran's bed in complete shock, unable to form words. When Robb charged into the room, breathless from his dash up the tower steps, the direwolf was licking Bran's face. Jon's little brother looked up calmly. "His name is Summer," he had said. The direwolf's head perked up and he barked.

* * *

The hours passed and Maester Luwin and Robb had left reluctantly to give Bran rest. Maester Luwin was asked to send a message to their father and mother. Only Jon had remained and Bran seemed to like that. There was a silence between them as Bran stroked his direwolf's fur and Jon held Bran's hand.

"Gods, Bran. Do you remember anything?"

"I can't," Bran replied. "Nothing about that tower, only how I fell. Though there is something that is bothering me."

"What is it?" Jon asked.

"I had a dream, though now that I think on it I don't believe it was. I was in the air falling to the ground when a three eyed crow spiralled down with me out of reach. The crow told me I had to fly though I did not understand. He said the answer to the problems was to fly. I could see mountains and their peaks white with snow, and the silver threads of rivers in the dark woods.

"A face appeared up in a grey mist shining in gold saying, 'The things I do for love.' I screamed and crow pecked my shoulder, telling me to forget that and look down, trying to teach me how to fly. I saw Winterfell, Maester Luwin on his balcony reading and Robb practicing swordplay in the yard with real steel in his hand. You were in a room with dim candles looking over books with numbers."

"I was managing our daily income take we took from the stock-," Jon started. Bran glared at him. "Sorry, continue."

"Hodor carrying an anvil and then in the heart of the godswood, the great white weirwood tree brooded over its reflection. I think it felt me watching, for it lifted its eyes fro mthe still waters and stared back at me. I looked to the east and saw a galley racing across the waters of the Bite. Mother was sitting alone looking at a blood-strained knife on a table with Ser Rodrik leaning across a rail."

"Lady Cateyln has taken off to the capitol to talk with father about what…happened." Bran did not need to know what had transpired while he was in his coma.

"In the south I saw the Trident. Father was pleading with the king in grief. Sansa herself to sleep and Arya watching in silence stroking the steel of a skinny sword-" _Needle. _

"-lifted my eyes to the east and saw the Free Cities and everything surrounding it. I even saw what seemed like two silver haired people riding with savage men and woman."

Jon did not like the sound of that. "The Targaryen exiles," he murmured.

"I looked to the north and saw the Wall shining like blue crystal. Uncle Benjen slept with men in a cold bed while aunt Lyanna cloaked in blue and grey was in a room in Castle Black talking to a very old blind Maester wearing black. They were talking about something very important."

"What was it?" Jon asked. "Something to do with you I think," Bran replied. "Talking about your tall father and his rightful claim, as well as you as a person," Jon narrowed his eyes in confusion and then disbelief. This all sounded loony and unbelievable, but after everything that had happened Jon could bend his mind to anything. Their lord father wasn't as tall as most men though.

"I looked pas the all past the endless forested of snow and to the curtain of light at the end of the world. A land deep into the heart of winter that shook in anger as I came closer. I cried out, afraid. The crow said that winter was coming. It was then I flew as the Dead King reached for me."

"Who the hell is the Dead King?"

"I have no clue," Bran said. "All I know was he was an evil creäture made of ice. The Dead King screamed words of fire and ice joined together could destroy him. He was going to find a way to cause sorrow for this product. Flying was better than climbing and then…the crow stabbed at my forehead fiercely and I was ripped from the veil. That's all I can really remember."

Jon sighed as he stepped back. He breathed out and realised he had held everything in. Correction: Robb was the third best story-teller. Second prize went to Brandon Stark.

"I think your dream may have to do with the others," Jon began slowly. "The others, you mean the White Walkers from Old Nan's tales?"

"I don't think they were tales Bran, but allegory for the truth – the absoulte truth." Jon rubbed his growing stubble and felt prickly brown hair.

"I'm scared Jon," Bran said. Jon came close and put an arm around his brother's shoulder. "Don't be. You're a Stark of Winterfell as well as a Tully. You have nothing to fear from the ice. In fact, the ice should be one with you." Bran closed his eyes, and slowly nodded.

* * *

A few days later, Tyrion Lannister and Lyanna Stark returned from the Wall. Given their suspicions it was hardly surprising Jon thought that Tyrion was greeted less warmly that he had been when he had ridden with the King's party. Jon personally did not think his friend was responsible for Bran's fall and murder attempt. He felt like in that short week he had gotten to know Tyrion as a person. Jon smiled warmly and Tyrion gave a nod of acknowledgement to him first. Tyrion had wanted to speak with Bran for some reason.

Robb was seated in Lord Starks' high seat, wearing ringmail and boiled leather with a stern face that shouted imitation of Lord Eddard.

In the centre of the room the dwarf stood with his servants and four men of the Night's Watch. Lyanna stood next to Jon and Theon behind Lord Robb Stark, who had just been welcomed back by her nephews. As Bran was carried in by Hodor, the tension in the air was so thick that Jon swore he could cut in with a butter knife. He tried not to speak a word.

"Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome here at Winterfell for a long as he wishes to stay," Robb was saying in a formal tone. His sword was across the knee, the steel bare. _Robb, that is childish. It is a clear threat to the Lannisters and would give you away. _Jon knew what it meant to greet a guest with an unsheathed sword.

"Any man of the Night's Watch," Tyrion repeated. "But not me, do I take your meaning, boy?" It was obvious to Jon that Tyrion was trying to test Robb to see how much he had matured, but Robb took the clear bait.

He stood and pointed at the little man with his sword. "I am the lord here while my father and mother are away, Lannister. I am not your boy." It was aggravating to both Robb and himself though for different reasons.

"If you are a lord, you might lean a lord's courtesy," Tyrion Lannister replied, ignoring the sword pointed at his face. He inclined his head to Jon's way. "Your bastard brother has all your father's graces, it would seem. Hell, even your aunt has more formal values and she is half a wolf herself." Robb gritted his teeth.

"_Aunt Lyanna," _Bran gasped out of Hodor's arm. Lyanna murmured thanks to the gods and smiled at her young nephew wanting to go to him. Tyrion turned to look at Bran. "So it is true, the boy lives. I could scare believe it and I am happy. You Starks are hard to kill."

"You Lannisters best remember that," Robb said, lowering his sword. "Hodor, bring my brother here."

"Hodor, Hodor said. As he trotted to the high seat of the Starks, Lyanna leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Why is Robb so hostile to Tyrion?" Jon was aware than he was now taller than his aunt, making him feel strangely uncomfortable. "We'll explain later."

Hodor set Bran on the former Stark throne used by the old Kings of Winter. The throne itself was made of cold stone; the carved heads of direwolves snarled on the ends of its massive arms. Jon had sat on the seat once while Robb pretended to be his servant.

Robb put a hand on his shoulder. "You said you had business with Bran. Well, here he is, Lannister."

Tyrion Lannister stared at Bran with his mismatched green-black eyes. Jon could see that he was studying his younger half-brother and weighing him up. "I'm told you were a great climber, Bran," Tyrion said finally. "Tell me, how is it that you came to fall?"

"I _never," _Bran insisted hotly. "The boy does not remember anything of the fall or the climb." Maester Luwin said gently. _Bran could never fall. _

"Curious," said Tyron.

"My brother is not here to answer your questions," Robb said curtly. "Do your business and be gone."

"I have a gift for you," the dwarf said to Bran. "Do you like to ride, child?"

Maester Luwin came forward "My lord, Bran has lost the use of his legs. He cannot sit a horse."

"Nonsense," said the Imp. "With the right horse and the right saddle, even a cripple can ride."

Jon winced at Tyrion's words. Even he thought Tyrion could have chosen a better way of explaining. He could see the hurt on Bran's face when he said "I'm not a cripple!" Tears came unbidden to his eyes.

"Then I am not a dwarf," Tyrion said with a twist to his mouth. "My father will rejoice to hear of that miracle." Theon and Jon chuckled as Lyanna hid her smile. Robb glared at them.

"What sort of horse and saddle are you suggesting?" Luwin asked.

"A smart horse. The boy cannot use his legs to command the animal, so you must shape the horse to the rider; teach it to respond to the reins, to the voice." Tyrion drew a rolled paper from his belt. "Give this to your saddler. He will offer the rest. I recommend with an unbroken yearling, with no old training to be unlearned."

Maester Luwin took the paper from the dwarf's hand, unrolled and studied it. "I see. You draw nicely, my lord. This ought to work. I should have thought of this myself."

Maester Luwin paused and walked over to Jon, handing him the paper. Besides Luwin, Jon was probably the second smartest person in Winterfell. Jon took it and with Lyanna and Theon by his shoulders examined it. It was a remarkable design which would entail Bran using the reins to move it left and right, stop and go. It would take Jon hours to decipher it completely but he suspected he didn't need to do anything. He handed it back to Luwin.

"The design is not terribly unlike my custom saddles." Tyrion offered.

"Will I be able to ride?" Bran asked, hope in his voice. _The crow had promised he'd fly. Jon recalled. _

"You will," the dwarf told him. "And I swear to you Bran on horseback you'll be as tall as any of your siblings."

Luwin handed the paper to Robb who looked at it and then said in a voice mixed with confusion and suspicion "Is this some sort of trap Lannister? Why are you being so kind to me brother?"

"Your brother Jon asked me to help him if I could," Jon saw everyone cast their look across to him and he flushed. "And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards and broken things." Tyrion Lannister placed a hand over his heart and grinned. Jon faintly remembered asking Tyrion for help, but he had been distant and could only vaguely recall. His heart was thankful to the little man.

The door to the yard flew open. Little Rickon burst in, breathless. The direwolves were with him. The boy stopped at the door but the wolves came on. Their eyes found Lannister. Ghost came to him first and bowed his head, and Tyrion scratched behind his ear. Jon smiled as Ghost came to him and stood at his side.

Summer began to growl and Grey Wind picked up on it. They padded towards the little man. "They do not like your smell, Lannister," Theon commented.

"I wonder why. I have nothing to hide," Tyrion said. Shaggydog came out of the shadow behind him, snarling. Tyrion recoiled and Summer lunged at him from the other side. He reeled away, unsteady on his feet, and Grey Wind snapped at his arm, tearing loose a scrap of cloth.

"_No," _Jon heard Bran shout as the Lannister men reached for their swords. "To me, Summer." The direwolf glanced at Bra, crept backwards and settled down below Bran's dangling feet. Jon had watched in silence, waiting for Robb to call his wolf back. He placed a hand on Ghost's spine.

Sure enough, Robb let out a sigh and called out reluctantly to his wolf. The direwolf moved swift and silent towards him. Only Shaggydog remained. "Rickon, call your direwolf back." Jon said calmly to his four year old brother. Rickon glanced at Jon and remembered himself. "Home, Shaggy, home now." Jon still thought the name _Shaggydog _was stupid.

The black wolf gave the dwarf a final snarl and bounded off to Rickon. Tyrion undid his scar and mopped at his brow. "How interesting," he said in a flat tone.

"Are you well, my lord?" asked one of his men, his sword in hand. He glanced nervously at the direwolves as he spoke. "Put away your blade. You can see your lord is unharmed." Jon said, recognising the man who had almost knocked down Arya in the scuffle in the yard. The man scowled. "I don't take orders from you bastard."

"Please shut up," The Imp cut in. "And yes I am fine. Shaken, but I'll live."

Robb looked on edge. "The wolves…I don't know why."

Tyrion bowed to both Jon and Bran. "I thank you for calling them off with haste young men. I think it be time I take my leaving."

Robb seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying "Wait, you have done my brother a kindness Lord Tyrion which I am grateful. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours if you wish it."

Tyrion looked at Robb and said "Spare me your false courtesies; I believe that we shall both sleep easier if I was not staying in your halls tonight. There was a brothel I saw on the way back. I shall spend my evening there and head out in the morning."

Tyrion turned to Jon's direction. "Jon, my friend. I have some things to discuss with you about the matters you broached to me that I will not show at this time. May we speak as soon as this audience has finished?" Robb, Theon and Bran looked at him puzzled. Lyanna seemed to know what Tyrion wanted and smiled in understanding at Jon. "Of course, my lord. I would be much obliged."

Tyrion nodded formally and spoke to the black brothers. "Yoren, we go south a daybreak. You will find me on the road no doubt. With that the man made his exit. His men followed.

Robb turned to the brothers of the black uncertainly. "I have had rooms prepared, and you'll find no lack of hot water to wash off the dust of the road. I hope you'll honour us at that dinner tonight." Jon noticed how awkwardly Robb said those words; he took note and placed it at the back of his mind. It was a speech he had learned. To be a lord or king, every word you spoke to your bannermen or commoners had to be from the heart.

As they broke off, Jon unsure of what to do went outside the hall and found Tyrion Lannister waiting for him. "Walk with me Jon." The Imp said as he motioned he men to leave them. The men hesitated, but did not argue. The man who had drawn his steel glared with anger at Jon, who ignored him. Tyrion saw this exchange.

"That's Ser Doric. An angry fellow who is loyal only to my house, but will probably undercut us if offered the right reward." Tyrion explained as they walked towards the direction of Winter Town.

"I suspected he was a tight ass," Jon said. "But anyway, how are you? Did you enjoy the Wall?" Tyrion laughed.

"The Wall was grand spectacle, a seven hundred metre tall beast of ice that spreads across the width of Westeros. I did not see it all in glory, but I was at Castle Black most of the time. I must say the Night's Watch was a grizzly folk of old men and young upstarts." Tyrion stopped.

"I did as you asked. The Lord Commander was amused by your questions, but he answered them. I cannot give you much on the White Walker myth that you asked, but I can say they believe that _something is_ rising north of the Wall be it dead men or free folk. The old man that you told me about was called Gared and he was sent of an expedition for wildlings with a boy called Will and Ser Waymar of House Royce. Will and Ser Waymar are missing, and presumed dead. Your uncle Benjen Stark was sent with a few other rangers to find them since this was not the first disappearance. Attacked by wildlings…or the others?"

"Lord Commander Mormont and the Night's Watch haven't seen any strange activity other than wildling attacks?" Jon asked. "Sorry Jon. Do you honestly believe in these tales of grumkins, snarks and all the other monsters your wet nurse warned you about? The real threat to the Seven Kingdoms lies in the heart of men."

"There must be something beyond the Wall besides wildlings." Jon insisted. Winter was Coming and the others with them, if he believed what he was reading. A second Long Night that they might not be able to stop.

Tyrion reached up and patted him on the back. "Jon, enough. You're too old and mature to really believe in this. Let it go."

Jon did not want to, but he did as Tyrion asked. He needed to go to the Wall himself, though he knew he had missed his chance when Benjen had left. He moved on to something else that made him curious.

"Tyrion, do you know why my aunt wanted to go to the Wall? Rather curious considering she is a female and cannot take the black."

Tyrion shrugged. "All I know is she spent a lot of time with Maester Aemon and some other book keepers at the Wall." Jon froze. He suddenly remembered the dream Bran had had. It must have been really true.

Tyrion chuckled to himself. "Your aunt…wow, what a women. I must say she is wittier than my brother or even me. It was rather easy to strike up a friendship with that Stark. If I had been taller and a true Lannister… I can't say that your brother feels the same."

"He has good reason Tyrion," Jon said. He did not know where he should divulge the information of Bran's assassination attempt for only few people knew, but he thought if he could trust anyone, it would be Tyrion Lannister.

"There is something I must tell you. I think I trust you enough that you won't reveal it enough. I hope I am not wrong." Jon began. Tyrion's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"

Jon took a deep breathe, hoping Robb would forgive him. "During King Robert's stay, Cateyln Stark received a letter from her sister Lysa Arryn-"

Tyrion shuddered. "That woman is not pleasant."

"-and it said that someone murdered Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King."

The Imp coughed loudly. "What?! I thought a sickness…wait, it could have been poison. . He had not enemies I am sure. Jon Arryn was a good man."

"Before I continue, may I beg a question? Did anyone or you in your immediate family or friends ever happen to own a Valyrian steel blade with a dragonbone hilt? About this long?" Jon asked, spreading his hands palm down to indicate the blade's length.

"I did. Why?"

Jon almost backed in surprise off if he had not registered the past tense. "Somebody tried to use this knife to murder my brother Bran as he lay in his bed. It gave my step-mother scars before Bran's direwolf killed him," Jon explained. He did not mention the fire.

Tyrion appeared genuinely startled. "I swear to you Jon I had nothing to do with this. Surely you can see that I would never harm—"

"Tyrion, if I believed you responsible I would be as hostile as Robb or possibly even more. We would not be chatting so pleasantly. I do not think it is clear to my older brother, but I think along with my step-mother that Bran saw something that someday at Winterfell did not want him to see."

Tyrion pieced together the rest and something flashed in his eyes that Jon thought was recognition. The little man must know something.

"Jon, I thank you for trusting me with this information. I suspect I know who has orchestrated these plots, but my I cannot openly discuss without evidence. I hope you can understand." Jon understood, but he did not like it.

"Do you have any ideas."

"A few yes but I would rather not discuss."

Jon extended his hand. "We must find out what happened for the sake of both our families. My brother and step-mother believe that it was you and I know someone might attempt to use this information to start a feud between House Stark and House Lannister. My father always mistrusted your house and this is all the provocation the north needs to go to war with the south."

Tyrion took his hand and they both shook. "I promise to look into this when I reach King's Landing. I'll talk with your father and possibly Lady Cateyln if I see her. I am glad we are friends."

Jon smiled. They walked in silence. "I almost forgot. Here's the book back. I must say it is quite a great read." They had reached his horses and Tyrion stood on his toes and took out the old text. "Thanks, I almost forgot with all these things happening."

After that, Jon was lead into a nearby tavern at first because he refused to enter a brothel. Jon spent a few hours with Tyrion before saying his farewells, promising to send a raven on his investigations and vice versa.

Jon entered after a bath into the Great Hall when it was time for dinner. A long trestle table had been set up near the fire. The lord's seat was seated not by Robb, but Bran. Robb sat on the right and Lyanna sat across from him. Jon said his greetings and sat next to Robb. They ate suckling pig that night, and pigeon pie, and turnips soaked in butter.

Ghost remained quiet by Jon's side, calmly picking at a meaty bone while Summer snatched table scraps from Bran's hand. Grey Wind and Shaggydog fought over a bone in the corner.

Yoren was senior among the black brothers, so the steward had seated him between Jon and Maester Luwin. The old man had a sour smell as if he had not washed. He ripped at the meat and cracked the ribs to suck out the marrow from the bones.

Robb asked for news on uncle Benjen and the black brothers grew ominously quiet. "What's wrong?" Jon asked. "Has something happened to our uncle?" Bran asked.

"We have received hard news from the Wall, milord and ladies just an hour ago. I'm sorry, Stark's gone."

The other man said, "The Old Bear sent him out to look for Waymar Royce and he's late returning, my lord."

"Too long, Yoren said, "Most likely dead." Jon was shocked.

"What, what, what happened? All seemed fine when he left for the ranging expedition." Their aunt exclaimed.

"My uncle is not dead," Robb Stark said loudly, anger pouring through. He rose from the bench and laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Do you hear me? _My uncle is not dead! He is too good of a ranger!" _His voice rang against the stone walls. Jon felt a mixture of pride and anxiousness for his older brother.

Yoren looked up a Robb, unimpressed. "Whatever you say, milord."

The youngest of the Watch shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Jon guessed he was from the Reach and had come to the North voluntarily. Most likely a knight of around twenty. There's not a man on the Wall who knows the haunted forest better than Benjen Stark.

"Maybe he will, maybe he won't." Yoren picked at his meat with his teeth.

Jon thought of the White Walkers and the threat they imposed if what Gared said was true. He kept his silence because he did not trust himself to sound legitimate.

"The children will help him," Bran blurted suddenly. "The children of the forest."

Theon Greyjoy snickered.

"Bran, the children of the forest have been dead for thousands of years. All that is left of them is the weirwood trees." Maester Luwin said kindly.

"Who knows," Jon suddenly said. Everyone turned to look at him for the second time in one day. "Maybe here south of the Wall that's correct. But from what I'm hearing and you can correct me on this, there is a lot of supernatural things happening."

Yoren looked fondly on Jon. "Your Eddard Stark's bastard son correct? Benjen told us much about you and your siblings. You look a lot like your father except for those eyes like those of the east. He offered you a place at the Wall but you refused. You have a keen eye. If you ever reconsider…but anyway, up beyond the wall a man can always tell what's alive and what's dead. But sometimes, things could change."

"Are the White Walkers real?" Jon asked casually. "Oh, Jon," Robb sighed but their aunt shook her head. "Robb let him ask."

"Who honestly knows? They could or could not. Just because they haven't been seen for many thousand years doesn't mean they're not lying dormant. They could be raising an army of the dead like in the old tales. I remember one time on a scouting mission; I saw a dead wildling with skin the colour of dark blue and black, coal eyes. He may have been a wight but I did not bother to find out. I lit a torch and burned the body." One the other man said.

Robb clicked his fingers. "Hello? White Walkers are not real. Stop pretending Jon and look at the facts. We have other _problems to deal with._"

That night, after the plates had been cleared, Robb carried Bran up to bed himself led by Grey Wind and followed by summer.

Jon stayed behind along with his aunt who changed her seat and sat next to him in silence.

Lyanna turned her face towards him. "What happened here Jon? Why is everyone so on edge?" So Jon told her everything that happened, as with Tyrion excluding the fire for he needed to talk to Robb about that.

Lyanna mouth dropped. "Those bastards! Why would they hurt poor Bran?"

"We think he saw something and that's why Lady Cateyln is not present. She now at King's landing," Jon said. He looked at his aunt evenly. "Hey aunty, do you believe that Tyrion had anything to do with the assassination attempt?"

Lyanna shook her head. "For all his flaws Tyrion's a good man. We share a lot in common except for drinking, whoring and gambling…as well as excessive reading. He would not hire a man to kill Bran."

"Ah, you like him. That's sweet – falling for a dwarf." Jon teased. She laughed but did not say anything in her defence.

Jon told her of his agreement with Tyrion. Lyanna pursed her lips and placed a protective hand over Jon's shoulder. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I hope so too Lyanna." Jon closed his eyes.

He met Robb later and told him about what he had discussed with Tyrion and the arrangement. Robb was instantly suspicious. "How can we trust the Imp? He may be waiting to head for the capitol and tell his family about what you discussed."

"Don't call him Imp, Robb," Jon said patiently. "I don't know, but in my heart I know I can trust the little man. He has a heart of gold." Robb grinned. "I see what you did there. OK, Jon. If you believe in this, then I'll put my trust in you. Just be careful."

As Robb turned to leave, he stopped in his tracks and turned around, his blue eyes filled with hesistation. "Just so you know, I ordered the men to keep what happened in the tower a secret on pain of death – they did not take that seriously but vowed to keep it on their tongues. I still do not know what to make of it but…Jon, your eyes flashed black and then red when exiting that flame, and then reverted back to normal purple. That's not natural."

And with that, Robb left for his room leaving Jon to his thoughts.

A week or so later, they had heard what had happened to Tyrion on the road.

"I'm sorry, how could you mother act so rash." Jon had almost shouted those words to Robb as they ate breakfast. "Didn't you send her a raven on-?"

"I don't know Jon!" Robb almost yelled, causing silence. "My mother probably did not get our message. She taking him to the Vale, she does not know that it was not him."

* * *

A few days later, a light snow was falling. Jon watched over Bran as the iron portcullis was winched upward and smiled for his little brother.

"Are you ready?" Robb asked Bran. Bran nodded. "Let's ride, then." Robb put his heels into his big grey-and-white geld and his horse walked under the portcullis. Jon was behind Bran. "G," Bran whispered to his horse and the small chestnut filly of two started forward, named Dancer of course.

They had trained her special. Bran had only ridden her around the yard. Bran sat strapped to her back in the oversize saddle that Tyrion had drawn up.

They passed beneath the gatehouse, over the drawbridge, through the outer walls. Ghost, Summer and Grey Wind cam loping behind them snuffling at the wind. Close behind them was Theon Greyjoy with a longbow and a quiver of broadheads. Theon wanted a deer and he would not be stopped.

They were followed by four guardsmen in mailed shirts. Maester Luwin brought up the rear riding a donkey. Lyanna Stark was at Winterfell helping the maids and coordinating while the others helped Bran. Jon knew Bran would have liked it to be Robb, Jon and himself, but the other would not hear of it.

Beyond the castle lay the market square, its wooden stalls deserted now. They rode down the muddy streets of the village, past rows of small neat houses of log and undressed stone. A few villagers eyed the direwolves cautiously as the riders when past, and one old man dropped the wood he was carrying. The other folk did not mind. They bent the knee when they saw them pass, and Robb greeted them all with a nod of the lord. Jon realised how much Robb was growing into the role of Lord of Winterfell.

Two serving wenches stood beneath the sign of the Smoking Log. When Theon called out to them, the younger girl called Kyra turned red and covered her face. Theon spurred his mount of move up beside Robb. "Sweet Kyra," he said with a laugh. "She squirms like a weasel in bed, but say a word to her on the street and she blushes pink like a maid. Did I ever tell you and Jon about the night-?"

"Not where Bran can hear, Theon," Robb warned him with a glance at Bran. Jon shook his head. Greyjoy smiled at Bran.

Jon and Robb rode closer to Bran. "You're doing well, Bran."

"I want to go faster." Bran replied. Jon laughed and set his own gelding into a trot.

"Go on Bran."

Robb smiled and came after Jon with the wolves behind him.

Jon was well ahead, glancing back over his shoulder from time to time to make sure the group were following. Robb was close behind him. He heard a snap of reigns and Dancer slid in a gallop. Bran caught both Jon and Robb on the edge of the wolfswood. They had left the other well behind. "I can _ride!" _Bran shouted, giggling happily.

"I'd face you, but I fear you'd win." Robb's tone was light, but Jon knew something was troubling his brother. He knew what it was and it caused him great pain.

"I don't want to race." Bran looked around. "Did you hear the direwolves?"

"Grey Wind and Shaggydog were restless. Ghost as usual did not make a sound. Just like our bastard brother." Robb said. Jon raised his eyebrows. Robb's auburn hair had grown shaggy and unkempt, and reddish stubble covered his jaw similar to Jon, only his own one had thickened into dark brownish with grey. It made him look older than sixteen. "Sometimes I think they sense things."

"They do, don't you know?" Jon said. "Bran, we wish you were older."

"I'm nine now!" Bran said. "Nine isn't so much younger than sixteen or fifteen, and I'm heir to Winterfell, after Robb." Jon would turn sixteen in a few weeks.

Robb sighed. "So you are. We need to tell you something. There was a bird last night from King's Landing. Maester Luwin woke Jon and me up."

_Dark wings, dark words. _What the ravens of winter were commonly known for. Jon knew what Bran was going through. When Robb had wrote to the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, uncle Benjen was still missing. Then a message had arrived from the Eyrie, from Lady Cateyln. She did not say when she would return only that she had taken Tyrion prisoner. Robb and Jon had written back immediately and sent a raven, telling Cateyln to release the Imp because he was on their side. Jon did not know if it would work.

They had spent most of the time locked behind the solar with the others issuing commands to the strongholds of the north telling them to prepare for an eventual conflict.

"Was the bird from Mother? Is she coming home?" Bran asked.

"The message was from Alyn in King's Landing. Jory Cassel is dead along with Wyl, Heward, murdered by the Kingslayer." Robb lifted his face to the snow, and the flakes melted on his cheeks. "May the gods give them some rest?" _Let's hope. _Jon remained silent looking between Bran and Robb.

Bran said something Jon did not register. Robb shook his head numbly, pain so visible on his face. "I don't know and Bran, that's not the worst of it. Father was caught beneath a falling horse in that fight. Alyn says that his leg is shattered and he was given milk of the poppy, but they are not sure when 'll he-" Robb's voice cracked. The rest of the group caught up to them.

"-when he will wake," Jon finished. He laid a pommel on his bastard sword. "Bran, we both promise. Whatever might happen, the Stark does will not forget." _Winter is Coming for all of us. _

"What will you do?" Bran asked.

"Theon thinks I should call the banners," Robb said. "I say we should abide time." Jon said.

"Blood for blood." Greyjoy did not smile.

"Only a lord can call the banners." Bran said.

"If Lord Stark dies Robb is Lord of Winterfell." Theon told him.

He _won't_ die!" Bran screamed.

"Nice tact Theon," Jon said, but he was worried by what Theon had said. He did not want his father to die.

Robb took Bran's hand. "Father won't die. Still…the honour of the north is in my hands. Father told me to be strong for Rickon, Jon, our aunt and you. I'm a man grown. It is my duty."

Bran shivered. "I wish Mother was here." "We all do Bran, we all do." Robb shifted his gaze away.

Bran looked at Jon. "Does Maester say to call the banners?"

"The maester is timid as an old woman," Theon said before Jon thought of a reply. "Shush Theon," Jon shook his head. "Bran, if Father is in trouble, then the only proper thing to do with raise the northern bannermen. Have you not heard that the Lannisters have just begun a war in the Riverlands?"

Bran widened his eyes. "Grandfather…" Jon nodded gravely. "Lord Tully and your uncle are in trouble. We have to help them, but now is not the correct time." Jon closed his purple eyes and sighed.

As they continued, Bran went faster and they did not follow. Jon was not worried.

It was only when he didn't return that he began to worry. Looking at Robb and Theon. all three of them spurred their horses faster. They found Bran was being held by the scruff of his neck with a knife held against his throat by a filthy wildling.

Jon could see Bran struggling against the man holding him captive, and could also see Ghost and Grey Wind coming out of the trees behind the wildlings. Jon made a quick decision as he moved his horse forward just a little bit more and said "Let my brother go wildling. Go back north of the wall before we are forced to kill you."

Five other wildlings approached them. Jon could see they were not going to do as he said. With a cry, he motioned to Robb and they rode them down. Jon drew his bastard sword and slashed at a man's throat, blood spluttering from his wound.

Robb took care of his one with the point of his sword and the remaining two went back to their companion. Jon in one motion had his sword inches from a scampering woman's throat and nodded to Robb. "I swear, let our brother go or suffer the consequences."

The man holding Bran snarled. "If you kill her then I'll stab your brother."

Jon could see the hesitation in Robb's eyes and the man stood triumphant. Before any could move, Jon whistled. Ghost and Grey Wind bounded forward and jumped on the remaining two who had backed off, ripping their throats out. The man holding Bran stumbled back. Before the direwolves moved on to their next prey, an arrow whipped past Robb and buried itself deep into the man holding Bran's neck, causing the man to let go of Bran and drop to the ground dead. Turning to see that it was Theon, who shot the arrow.

The wildling women tried to break free of Jon, but he kept her in her place. She squirmed and Jon kicked her down. The women went on her knees and found Jon's sword at her throat. She looked at Robb. "Please my lord, don't kill me. Spare men and I'll do whatever you want. Work for you in any way I can." Jon saw that that the woman was very old.

Jon saw Robb look at the wildling for a long time before he eventually said, "Very well then. Theon, make sure she does not escape and keep an eye on her. Jon, take Bran back to the castle. I'll let know the group on what happened."

Jon held out his hand to Bran. "Come on little brother. Let's go." As they rode back in silence, Jon asked Bran if he was well. Bran nodded but he would not speak. It made sense since he had almost been killed. Jon hoped that he wouldn't go into shock.

Everything had settled in well. Lyanna had taken care of Bran while the wildling was kept in chains. Her name was Osha and she would work as a servant.

* * *

Later, Jon had talked with both Bran and his aunt about father's situation when Theon came into his room and asked for all three of them in Lord Eddard's solar. Puzzled, all three of them followed Theon with Jon carrying Bran while Hodor slept. Jon wondered if more bad news had come and this time it would be serious.

Upon entering Jon found a scared and started grim looking Robb Stark looking at a broken letter. "Robb, what is it?" Wordlessly, Robb handed the paper to Jon who upon reading it realised what it was. A threat, a message, a warning, said by the Lannisters truly. He could not believe what it said though, their father was being accused of plotting to overthrow the King, Joffrey Baratheon and had been therefore arrested for treason, and Robb was being summoned to King's Landing to pledge fealty to Joffrey. Of Arya…

King Robert was dead, that brat Joffrey Baratheon was now on the Iron Throne and their lord father…

"Treason," Jon said to himself. He looked at Robb. "Father had been arrested for conspiring for the throne. Sansa wrote this?"

Maester Luwin spoke. "They are in Sansa's hand, but the queen's words. The queen had summoned Lord Robb to swear fealty to the new king."

"Joffrey puts my father in chains and now he wants his arse kissed?" Robb eyes widened in anger.

"Gods, Robb, don't do anything rash," Lyanna warned. "If this is all true, then the queen is keeping my brother as a hostage for good behaviour as well as Sansa and Arya."

"There is no mention of Arya in the letter." Jon put in back on the table, dreading coiling inside him. Lyanna groaned. "The girls…"

"My lord, if you do not ride to King's Landing then it will be seen as treason." Maester Luwin warned.

"No," Robb said loudly. He picked up the letter and gave it to Maester Luwin. "I'll ride to King's Landing, but no alone." He looked at Luwin. "Call the banners."

Greyjoy grinned. Maester Luwin looked worried. "All of them my lord?"

Robb face was of iron and coldness. He was very angry. "Stark banners are sworn to protect my father and the north, are they not?"

"They are."

"Then we'll see what those words are worth." Robb closed his eyes and growled. Maester Luwin almost smiled and scampered off for the ravens.

Jon looked at Robb and said "You don't believe this do you?" Robb shook his head. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to fight and we are going to win." Robb answered. Jon nodded and left the room, preparing for war. The ravens flew like they had never known before. The fight had begun.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Sorry I've been slow for publishing chapters. First of all, I write at a medium pace and I plan what I right. Sometimes if things don't work out, I have to scrap them._**

**_I was also very sick for the past five days which basically ruined my holidays with conjunctivitis , the flu and tonsulaties. Clap for myself managing to contract those sicknesses all at once._**

**_I also write alot in my chapters, and a really helpful observer told me that I should write 10,000 words a chapter. Let me know if you want more or less. I have this awesome story planned. Sorry if this chapter is not up to expectations. I've just been really stressed since school aleady started. Please like, favourite and review._**

**Bran **

The Karstarks came in on a cold windy morning, bringing three hundred horsemen and near two thousand foot from Karhold. Bran watched them come from a guard turret atop the outer wall, peering through Maester Luwin's bronze far-eye while perched on Hodor's shoulders. Lord Rickard Karstark himself led them, his sons Harrion and Eddard and Torrhen riding beside him beneath night-black banners emblazoned with the white sunburst of their House. He knew Lord Karstark's sons because they often come to Winterfell and was good friends with Jon, Robb and Theon.

They were the last. The other lords were already here with their hosts.

Robb had forbidden him to leave the castle. Jon had been organising the men. "We have no men to spare to guard you," his brother had explained.

"I'll take Summer," Bran argued.

"Don't act the boy with me, Bran," Robb said. "You know better than that."

It was because of what had happened in the wolfswood, he knew. The memory still gave him bad dreams. He had been as helpless as a baby. He was only a few years older than Robb or Jon, both had turned sixteen and looked men-grown. He did not want to be afraid.

He had been taught him all the banners: the mailed fist of the Glovers, silver on scarlet; Lady Mormont's black bear; the hideous flayed man that went before Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort; a bull moose for the Hornwoods; a battle-axe for the Cerwyns; three sentinel trees for the Tallharts; and the fearsome sigil of House Umber, a roaring giant in shattered chains.

These were not all the men of the North, but only the ones that could assemble on time.

Bran remembered the hard and cold stares the adults had given him as they felt queer to be around a cripple.

"How many is it now?" Bran asked Maester Luwin as Lord Karstark and his sons rode through the gates in the outer wall.

"Twelve thousand men, or near enough as makes no matter,"

"Lord Karstark is the last," Bran said thoughtfully. "Robb will feast him tonight."

"No doubt he will."

"How long before they go?" He did not want either of his brothers to leave - Robb with his humour and pleasantness, Jon with his silence and fondness of things out of the ordinary. He would miss Theon as well, he supposed.

"They must march soon, or not at all," Maester Luwin said. "The winter town is full to bursting, and this army of Robb does will eat us clean if it camps here much longer. Others are waiting to join him all along the Kingsroad, barrow knights and crannogmen and the Lords Manderly and Flint. The fighting has begun in the Riverlands, and your brothers have many leagues to go if they want to liberate the Tullys as well as you're father."

Even Winterfell itself was crowded. The yard rang to the sound of sword and axe, the rumble of wagons, and the barking of dogs. The place had been repaired after the fight months ago. The armoury doors were open, and Bran glimpsed Mikken at his forge, his hammer ringing as sweat dripped off his bare chest. Bran had never seen as many strangers in all his years, not even when King Robert had come to visit Father. He had heard the king had died. He had not really like Lord Baratheon for he had hurt Jon.

Later in the godswood carried by Hodor and accompanied by Summer, Bran prayed. Bran had always liked the godswood but he found himself drawn to it more and more. Even the heart tree no longer scared him the way it used to. The deep red eyes carved into the pale trunk still watched him, yet somehow he took comfort from that now. The gods were looking over him, he told himself; the old gods, gods of the Starks and the First Men and the children of the forest, his father's gods. His aunt's gods, his brother's gods. The gods he had dreamed of long ago.

"Please make it so Robb and Jon will stay. They can't go away," he prayed softly. He moved his hand through the cold water, sending ripples across the pool. "Please make them stay. Or if they have to go, bring them back home safe, with Mother and Father and the girls. And make it... make it so Rickon understands."

Maester Luwin counselled Robb to remain at Winterfell, and Bran pleaded with him too, for his own sake as much as Rickon's, but his brother only shook his head stubbornly and said, "I don't want to go. I have to."

It was only half a lie. Someone had to go, to hold the Neck and help the Tullys against the Lannisters, Bran could understand that, but it did not have to be Robb or Jon even. His brother might have given the command to Hal Mollen or Theon Greyjoy, or to one of his lord's bannermen. Maester Luwin urged him to do just that, but Robb would not hear of it. "My lord father would never have sent men off to die while he huddled like a craven behind the walls of Winterfell," he said, all Robb the Lord. Jon had approved.

"It is only right Bran. We must fight to survive." Jon had said to Bran.

Robb seemed half a stranger these days, and Jon perhaps evens more. Both had transformed themselves on their sixteen name days not just in their appearance, but in personality. The lords and ladies present had sensed this and tested both in their own way. Some lords were very curious about Jon.

Both were more confident in themselves, but Jon seemed to be practising what he learnt from his books to good use, helping Robb the Lord on strategy and how to deal with the Lannisters.

Roose Bolton and Robett Glover both demanded the honour of battle command, Maege Mormont did not like having to follow a boy and Lord Cerwyn wanted Robb to court his fat daughter.

Robb answered them with cool courtesy similar to father. He bent them to his will as Brandon Stark, Jon Snow and Lyanna Stark watched in amazement at his new found strength. He had always been watching how father dealt with his men. Robb was putting what he learnt to good use.

Lord Umber, or Greatjon, threatened to take his forces home if he was placed behind the front lines.

Robb told him he was welcome to do so.

"And when we are done with the Lannisters," he promised, scratching Grey Wind behind the ear, "We will march back north, root you out of your keep, and hang you for an oath breaker I promise my lord."

Greatjon had flung a flagon of ale and unsheathed the biggest, ugliest greatsword that Bran had ever seen. All along the benches, his sons and brothers and sworn swords leapt to their feet, grabbing for their swords.

Robb and Jon said a word at the same time and two snarls erupted in a blink of the eye. Lord Umber was on his back, his hand dripping in blood where Grey Wind had bitten off two fingers. Ghost prowled the table and guarded Robb and Jon, watching the lords and ladies with red, fierce eyes.

"My lord father taught me that it was death to bare steel against your liege lord," Robb said, "but doubtless you only meant to cut my meat."

Bran thought Robb was screwed, but Greatjon started laughing. "Your meat," he roared, "is bloody tough."

And that was how Greatjon Umber became Robb's fiercest supporter throughout this whole ordeal, saying though the boy may look like a Tully, he was a Stark through and through.

Bran was seated next to Jon and he nudged him. "Jon, do you have to go yourself? I know why Robb has to leave, but couldn't you…" Jon shook his head gravely. "These lords thirst for battle and are willing to charge headfirst without a plan of attack. It seems only Robb, Roose Bolton and I actually understand what's at stack. And I need to help father." Bran did not like Roose Bolton, but Jon seemed to talking with him every opportunity he got. The man was polite and astute, but he was so cold and dangerous.

Soon, the meal ended and plans were made to march to Moat Catlin. Robb and Jon had wandered off to speak with the lords and ladies before departing on the morrow.

That very night, his brother came to Bran's bedchamber pale and shaken, after the fires had burned low in the Great Hall. "I thought Greatjon was going to kill me," Robb confessed. "Jon did not believe so, but I really thought you'd be Lord of Winterfell in that moment. Gods, I was so scared. And the Greatjon's not the worst of them, only the loudest. Lord Roose never says a word; he only looks at me and I remember about the flayed men of the past."

"I don't like him, but Jon seems to trust him." Bran said.

Robb knew of course. "If Jon trusts the man then I'm okay." It seemed to Bran that some of the lords had actually preferred Jon to Robb due to his more calculating nature and good strategically knowledge of the Riverlands through maps and documents, but Robb and Jon were oblivious.

A few hours after Robb left, Jon visited and told him something that he did not like. "Aunt Lyanna is coming with us for the war," Jon was angry. "I don't know what Robb hopes to accomplish with bringing a women with no experience in war."

Bran did not know what to say. That had been his only comfort but know he would have no one of his family except for Rickon.

Bran was afraid. Every Stark that had gone south either did not make it back or were changed completely. Brandon, Rickard, Lyanna, Eddard. It seemed Uncle Benjen had escaped the curse.

Jon and Ghost had slept with Bran that night on the chair next to the bed, and Bran's dream did not haunt him as he thought. All he saw was fire and blood.

And two days later, as a red dawn broke across a windswept sky, Bran found himself in the yard beneath the gatehouse, strapped atop Dancer as he said his farewells to his brothers. He had already said tearful goodbyes to Lyanna Stark.

"You are the lord in Winterfell now," Robb told him. He was mounted on a shaggy grey stallion, his shield hung from the horse's side; wood banded with iron, white and grey, and on it the snarling face of a direwolf. His brother wore grey plate armour, sword and dagger at his waist, a fur-trimmed cloak across his shoulders. Jon wore grey chainmail over bleached leather as we;; as the same cloak, except his shield was the reversed colours.

"You must take my place, as I took Father's, until we come home." Robb said.

"Make sure to be a good lord Bran. We'll return with Father and everything will be fine. Look after Winterfell and its income. I wrote all the figures for Maester Luwin so you do not need to worry," Jon said. He patted Bran on the back. "We will all be changed so much when we see each other again. Listen to Maester Luwin's counsel, and take care of Rickon. Tell him that Robb and I will be back as soon as the fighting is done."

Rickon had refused to come down. He was up in his chamber, red eyed and defiant. "No!" he'd screamed when Bran had asked if he didn't want to say farewell to Robb and Jon. "NO farewell!"

"I told him," Bran said. "He says no one ever comes back."

"He can't be a baby forever. He's a Stark as you, I and Jon are, no matter his surname, and near five." Robb sighed. "Well, Mother will be home soon. And we'll all bring back Father, I promise. Everything will be fine." Bran hoped Robb was right.

He wheeled his courser around and trotted away. Jon looked at Bran for a moment, and then nodded at him and went after Robb. Grey Wind and Ghost followed, loping beside their warhorse, lean and swift while Ghost was hard and strong. Hallis Mollen went before them through the gate, carrying the rippling white banner of House Stark atop a high standard of grey ash. Theon Greyjoy and the Greatjon fell in on with Robb and Jon, Greatjon by Jon and Theon by Robb, and their knights formed up in a double column behind them, steel-tipped lances glinting in the sun.

Beyond the castle walls, a roar of sound went up. The foot soldiers and townsfolk were cheering Robb and Jon as they rode past, Bran knew; cheering for Lord Stark, for the Lord of Winterfell on his great stallion, with his cloak streaming and Grey Wind racing beside him. Lord Snow, the bastard of Winterfell and the deadliest man with a sword in the North, his face grim and Ghost cautiously guarding as silent as the leaves in the winter breeze. Bran smiled for both his brothers.

When the distant cheers had faded to silence and the yard was empty at last, Winterfell seemed deserted and dead. Bran looked around at the faces of those who remained, women and children and old men... and Hodor.

"Hodor?" he said sadly.

"Hodor," Bran agreed.

_Tywin Lannister in response to his son being kidnapped had massed two hosts at Casterly Rock to invade the Riverlands in retaliation. 20,000 men were commanded by Lord Tywin and 15,000 by the Kingslayer, who Jon thought was less of a king than he had thought. The man was too smug about himself. _

_Lord Tywin had dispatched Ser Gregor Clegane to raid the Riverlands where the lords returned to their keeps instead of Riverrun, allowing Tywin to directly go to the source. When Robb's uncle Ser Edmure Tully had learnt of all this, the Tully banners had been called to the capital of the kingdom, but only 4,000 men could have been spared to guard the pass between the Westerlands and the Riverlands which was the Golden Tooth. The Lannister invasion had begun when Jaime Lannister had come with 15,000 men attacking from the west to capturing Riverrun. Jaime broke the 4,000 men easily who guarded the Golden Tooth. Lord Vance was killed though Lord Piper was forced to flee. _

_Lord Beric Dondarrion's force of around 100 men, sent to bring Gregor Clegane to justice, is ambushed by Clegane and Lord Tywin. His force is nearly wiped out; Lord Beric, Lord Lothar Mallery, Ser Raymund Darry, and Ser Gladden Wylde are all killed, as are most of the Stark guardsmen sent along by Eddard Stark. Victorious, Lord Tywin closes off the Goldroad and continues his march north into the Riverlands. Thoros of Myr and Alyn escape with his body. _

_After his victory at the Golden Tooth, Jaime Lannister moves forward to meet the power of the House Tully outside the walls of Riverrun. The overwhelming number of Lannisters puts the riverlords to shame and Ser Edmure Tully and many others are taken captive. However, Lord Tytos Blackwood manages to lead some of the survivors back within Riverrun, forcing the Lannisters to lay siege to the castle._

_After defeating Lord Beric, Tywin leads 20,000 men northeast towards Ruby Ford, managing to conquer the Riverlands south of the Trident. Tywin takes Lord Blackwood's Raventree Hall. He gains Harrenhal after Lady Shella Whent surrenders Harrenhal because of lack of defenders and Ser Gregor Clegane brings out the Pipers and the Brackens with fire. _

_The Riverland armies are scattered and broken. Riverrun is currently being besieged by the Kingslayer and many important lords captured including the Tully heir have been taken prisoner. Marq Piper and Karyl Vance begin raids on the Lannisters. _

_The only hope for the Tullys and the Riverlands seems to be the Starks and their bannermen. Ser Edmure's nephew Robb Stark commands a hastily assembled 12,000 men march south to rescue his father with the help of the northern lords, Theon Greyjoy and his bastard brother Jon Snow. It seems Robb is the riverlanders only hope of defeating the Lannister invaders. _

**Jon**

They had begun their journey to Moat Cailin in silence. As they came closer to the Neck, more men joined their initial assembled force into an estimation of 16,250.

Robb rode and was surrounded by many of his main bannermen including Greatjon Umber, Lord Rickard, Lord Bolton and Lady Maege Mormont alongside Theon who kept his silence as they discussed their plans quietly. Jon rode in front with Karstark's son's and Lady Mormont's eldest daughter Dacey.

All three sons of Lord Karstark were big and broad men with trimmed beards and cold, grey eyes. They posed intimidating figures, but were quite friendly and were good friends of Jon, especially Torrhen who did not take things too seriously and eager for battle.

Dacey Mormont was six feet tall and lanky with black hair and long features. She was a pretty woman who looked elegant in leather armour. She was charming, aggressive, and Jon chuckled at her jokes aimed at Harrion's cluelessness about being around lady, especially a warrior.

What Jon got from everyone in the army that had assembled was that they were ready and eager to follow Robb under his command, but watched cautiously. He had barely turned sixteen after all. Jon noticed people watching him as well with the same questioning as Robb, particularly Lord Bolton and Lord Cerwyn. Since he was also Eddard Stark's son, he needed to be tested on how well he could perform in battle.

Jon had looked for his aunt to talk to her, but she was at the back talking with Lady Dustin and Lord Ryswell. He was still angry and confused by Robb's actions to bring her along for the war, but he would need to talk to him later.

When they arrived at the ancient castle, Jon at first saw a ruin surrounded by a swamp. But as he remembered from his readings, he almost hit himself.

Moat Cailin commanded the causeway, which allowed safe route for armies to travel south of the Neck. The castle was an effective and natural chocking point and was an excellent strategically sound position for the Starks. There was only way for an invader to go through Moat Cailin, which was to win the allegiance of House Reed and the crannogmen who know of other routes through the swamps. These routes such as the narrow trails between the bogs and wet roads through the reeds were made so only boats can follow, and were not on any map that Jon had ever seen.

According to myth, the Children of the Forest attempted to use Moat Cailin to hold back the flood of invading First Men. When that failed due to the human's superior numbers, the Children attempted to shatter the Neck by working powerful magic's from the Children's Tower and completely separating the north from the south in the same manner they shattered the Arm of Dorne centuries earlier. The Children failed and only succeeded in flooding it, creating bogs and swamps. However, the cataclysm proved the strength of their power and may have proved instrumental in bringing the First Men to agree to the terms of the Pact that ended hostilities between the two races.

A great stronghold, with twenty towers and great basalt curtain wall as high as that of Winterfell's. Jon observed now that only great blocks of black basalt lay scattered about, half sunk in the ground, where the wall once stood. The wooden keep rotted away a thousand years past and three remaining towers out of a fabled twenty are green with moss.

"It defiantly is an imposing fortress," Robb had commented when they neared as Jon fell back to him. "I would not want to deal with that castle." Jon had to agree.

Given the Reeds' strong ancestral ties to House Stark, they were unlikely to aid southerners. Jon knew how strong the friendship between his lord father and Howland Reed was. He had been a close companion during Robert's Rebellion and he had 'rescued' Lyanna from the Tower of Joy together. Eddard Stark even told them that Howland knew Robb and especially Jon when they were infants. Despite his father's fondness, Jon had never met the man himself not any crannogmen for that matter. They kept themselves reclusive in the swamps. Not any longer.

The Gatehouse Tower looked sound enough, and even boasted a few feet of standing wall to either side of it.

The Drunkard's Tower, off in the bog where the south and west walls had once met, leaned like a man about to spew a bellyful of wine into the gutter.

And the tall, slender Children's Tower, where legend said the children of the forest had once called upon their nameless gods to send the hammer of the waters, had lost half its crown. To Jon's faint amusement, it looked as if some giant beast like Balerion the Black Dread had taken a bite out of the crenulations along the tower top, and spit the rubble across the bog.

All three towers were green with moss. A tree was growing out between the stones on the north side of the Gatehouse Tower, looking so old its gnarled limbs with blankets of white.

They made camp. Smoky peat fires, lines of horses, and wagons heavy-laden with hard bread and salt beef passed as they set everything. On a stony outcrop of land higher than the surrounding country, many a lord's pavilion was raised: Dustin, Bolton, Ryswell, Mormont, Hornwood, Cerwyn, Umber, Karstark, Glover, Locke, Flint, Tallhart and House Stark.

Robb took Gatehouse Tower for the Starks, Rickard Karstark the Drunkard Tower and Greatjon the Children Tower. The Stark banners were flown over them with the other two respective banners underneath. Jon and Robb were forced to share a room while their aunt took the chambers next to theirs. Lyanna seemed distant and hurryingly left as they moved their easy belongings. He did not know if a godswood was nearby, but if it happened to be then she would go there. Of late, Lyanna Stark had been tending to the old gods of winter.

After making sure everyone was set, Jon found himself in a drafty hall, with a peat fire smoking in a black hearth. Robb sat in front of a massive stone table covered in maps and papers. He sat on the left hand of Robb next to Lord Bolton, Galbart Glover, Lord Cerwyn and Lord Karstark. To Robb's left were Lord Umber, Lord Ryswell, Lord Hornwood, Lord Tallhart, Robett Glover and Lady Mormont as well as Theon who looked uncomfortable being around these hard men and an equally fierce woman. Lord Howland Reed had sent a messenger from Greywater Watch that he would be coming as well in due time, which Jon found surprising.

Jon kept a sombre silence as the lords and lady threw at Robb and each other their plans on how to deal with the situation. He wanted to see if any one of them agreed with the plan he had formulated in his minds as he gazed over the maps.

Greatjon and Tallhart gave that Robb should take the battle of Lord Tywin and surprise them scaring the breeches out of them. Glover and Karstark argued for the opposite, to go directly for Jaime Lannister at Riverrun to liberate his uncle. Both ideas had merit, but Jon personally favoured Bolton and Ryswell's plan to split the northern army into two to attack both. Tywin would not expect this and the advantage of surprise would work well into their favour. The Kingslayer would be more surprised and be taken off guard, though Jon knew this prowess in battle.

Robb knew that Tywin would prefer to stay south of the Trident, taking one castle after another.

Jon knew that to even pass the Riverlands they would need to acquire the help of Lord Walder Frey, who had been deceivingly neutral throughout the war. The Late Walder Frey they called him. The bastard boy had been told by his step-mother about that prickly old man, and how the Freys always took their toll.

Robb had sent eyes out into the east, south and the west so they could get an idea on what they were up against from all directions. It was good that Robb was being careful, but he hoped the pressure wouldn't get to his brother. Not that he would do a better job.

Robb kept his face neutral and carefully listened to all three sides decisions. After the room had grown quiet, the lords look at Robb to see his final verdict. Robb stood from his seat.

"My lords and lady, those are excellent plans and opinions. Before I make my final decision and I promise it will be quick, I need another source of opinion," Robb looked at Jon. "What do you think we should do, brother? I know you have been bursting to give your opinion."

Jon was so startled by Robb's suddenness at him that his mind momentarily froze. All of them looked at his face intently, Roose Bolton's eyes cold and shifting similar to their Lord father. He could see no emotion in them. Rickard and Greatjon looked at him encouragingly as well as Ryswell and Cerwyn. Mormont seemed curious.

Jon took a silent deep breathe. "My lords, I think that all three of those suggestions hold great merit and have been from my point of view throughout well-thought and crafted. But in my strictest opinion, I must give my own side to Lord Bolton and Lord Ryswell's plan as it makes the most sense to employ. It would be nice to surprise either side at full force, but we need to focus on winning. A man like Tywin Lannister from what I have heard will not be easily surprised. He probably already has spies as we speak," Jon tried to make sure he sounded confident and his voice wasn't cracking. He looked around and was happy to find everyone was giving their full attention. Robb smiled in encouragement.

"I believe splitting our army into roughly in two is the right call. Howland Reed can spare us at least 3,000 men without disfavouring his role of bleeding the Lannisters out if they should come up by the Neck by chance. This would give us at least 21,000 men. Our options are limited: As Lord Bolton and Lord Ryswell pointed out, to relieve Riverrun we must cross the Green Fork either at the Twins or Ruby Ford," Jon gestured on the map. He looked at Lord Glover. "Did you not say that Lord Tywin could easily close that way if necessary?"

Glover seemed to be at a loss for words. Probably he did not expect a boy of sixteen to know this much of war. He nodded and Jon continued.

"The first half will have more soldiers – say, around 16,000 men. Go along the Kingsroad to engage Lord Tywin. Give command of those men to someone with experience and a similar mindset as Tywin Lannister. I would suggest Lord Bolton." Jon nodded at the pale man who regarded him thoughtfully.

"The second host should be commanded by Lord Robb personally to Riverrun to attack the Kingslayer from behind or from the side depending on which angle gives us the better advantage. The man is rash, impulsive and eager for battle, something he proved when he attacked Lord Eddard on the streets of King's landing. We can draw him out and _if _we are lucky, we can capture or seriously injure the man. All this however, depends on a few things." Jon hunkered over the map and pointed at the Twins, a bridge with two grey towers.

"Lord Frey might not let us pass." Lord Cerwyn said. Lords nodded.

"Exactly. We must either hope that he let us pass in good faith because we are helping the Riverlands or we will have to fight our way. I think we can all agree that will waste time and we will lose a lot of our remaining men. The Twins unfournately is our only hope."

Jon gestured outside to the soldiers outside doing various activities. "In idea circumstances, the North can raise at least 45,000 men more or less. If we were given enough time we could wait. That's what I would have done. But it seems the Lannisters refuse to give us any small advantage." Jon finished his war plan and breathed out. It felt like he had been holding on forever.

There was an eerie silence as most of the lords except for Robb and Roose Bolton looked at Jon in utter bewilderment. Jon almost smiled.

Lord Karstark gaped and looked at Robb. "How…did you know…how the hell did your brother come up with that plan? It's actually a genius combination of all of ours." He finally said. Robb looked pleased.

Lord Umber genuinely started clapping slowly. Lady Maege Mormont and Lord Ryswell seemed amazed and looked at Jon in respect. "Lord Snow, I swear where the hell have you been for the past sixteen years? My ears must be failing on me because what you said makes a lot of sense."

Jon did not understand their praise. He had been basically summarising what they had been saying.

"It's just logical my lords," he said honestly. "I just looked over the map, took and weighed the men that we had and made the most rational comprise and decisions."

Robb clapped him on the back. "I was thinking the lines of the same plan, but Lord Frey was something had almost forgotten to take seriously. It's your attention to detail that has us surprised Jon."

Roose Bolton did not give any hint of emotion, but he seemed to be almost smiling. "The boy has a tactical thought process and is strategically minded for war." Jon blushed at the compliment.

Robb waved his hands. "Enough praise for Jon. It comes from all the books he has read. Now that everyone knows we are both serious about this, let us move on with Jon's plan." It was what Robb said that made Jon realised like Robb at Winterfell, he had been tested.

"Robb, you already made that plan, didn't you?"

"Yes, Jon," Robb said. "That just proved to me how smart you really are. I'm hoping you can lead men during the battle to take back Riverrun."

Grey Wind and Ghost's head perked up. Jon already knew who they were noticing though he had seen her from the corner of his eye as he made open his plan. She had watched with a fierce sort of pride for both of them and she entered. Ghost looked at her with his crimson eyes. One by one, the lords fell silent and Robb looked up at the sudden quiet and saw her, "Mother?" He said, thick with emotion.

Jon could see that Cateyln wanted to go over to her eldest son and wrap herself around him, but here in front of the seasoned lords of winter he was glad she did not try. Robb needed to look as a commander that their father was.

Cateyln held herself far end of the basalt slab they were using for a table. The direwolves got to their feet and padded across the room to where she stood. Ghost and Grey Wind had become much bigger in size, strength and stamina.

"You've grown a beard," was all she said to Robb. Grey Wind sniffed her hand. She looked at Jon with loving affection of a mother. "You seem much older than you are, Jon. You have some very dark grey in your stubble,"

"Bastards grow at a quicker rate than the trueborn, my lady," Jon answered, returning the smile. For a moment, Cateyln looked stricken with guilt over something, but her face became as if it was before. He suddenly recalled that her actions of capturing Tyrion, his friend, had caused this war, but he let it go. It was good to see one of his mother's again.

Robb became suddenly awkward like a teen. He rubbed his stubbled jaw, his chins redder than his auburn hair. "Yes I have, mother."

Ghost nuzzled his nose across Cateyln's other injured hand. She did not seem to mind. Both direwolves went back to their places near the fire pit.

Jon did not notice the company that Cateyln had. The fattest man Jon had ever saw stood to her right who commanded as much girth as he ate. It was the man on her left who interested him a great deal. He had heard a great deal about Ser Brynden Tully 'The Blackfish' and his heroic deeds during the War of Ninepenny Kings, a war fought between King Aegon V and the Blackfyre pretender Maelys who had been thought to consume his twin in the womb.

The Blackfish held an impressive figure. He was tall and lean, his features lined and weathered. He had grey hair, bushy eyebrows and bright blues eyes and wore heavy plate armour similar to Robb. In fact, to Jon, The Blackfish looked like the man Robb would grow up to be when he was in his fifties to sixties.

The Blackfish was one of his personal heroes. Now the final person he wished to see was Ser Barristan Selmy. He knew this would never be, since he was a member of that bastard King Joffrey Baratheon's Kingsguard.

Ser Helman Tallhart was the first to follow the direwolf across the room to pay his respects, kneeling before her and pressing his brow to her hand. "Lady Catelyn," he said, "you are fair as ever, a welcome sight in troubled times." The Glovers followed, Galbart and Robett, and Greatjon Umber, and the rest, one by one. Theon Greyjoy was the last. "I had not looked to see you here, my lady," he said as he knelt.

"I had not thought to be here," Catelyn said, "until I came ashore at White Harbor, and Lord Wyman told me that Robb had called the banners. You know his son, Ser Wendel who has brought 1,750 of his men." Wendel Manderly stepped forward and bowed as low as his girth would allow. "And my uncle, Ser Brynden Tully, who has left my sister's service for mine."

Robb came from his place and nodded in acknowledgement. "Great-uncle, it is a pleasure to finally see you." He said. "I wish it did not come to war, but I wish to protect my home." Ser Brynden said grimly. His voice was smoky.

"And you will my lord," Jon said. Blackfish turned to him and smiled. "With you on our side, we can't lose. Ser Brynden, it is an honour to finally meet you after hearing all about you all those years. Your exploits during the third Blackfyre rebellions are well told. I wish everyone would have met in more pleasant circumstances."

"Your Eddard Stark's natural son," Ser Brynden said, not unkindly. "Cateyln had told me so many things about you. What I just heard confirmed most of them. I'm glad I lived up to your expectations though I'm a little old."

Jon grinned. Just because someone was old doesn't make them any less of a warrior. He compared Robert Baratheon, may the gods bless that king, with the old men of the previous wars of legend. They did not match.

"Is Ser Rodrik with you as well, Mother? I've missed him." Robb said.

"Ser Rodrik is on his way north from White Harbor," Cateyln said. "I have named him castellan and commanded him to hold Winterfell till our return. Maester Luwin is a wise counsellor, but unskilled in the arts of war."

"Have no fear on that count, Lady Stark," the Greatjon told Cateyln in his bass rumble. "Winterfell is safe. We'll shove our swords up Tywin Lannister's bunghole soon enough, begging your pardons, and then it's on to the Red Keep to free Ned."

"My lady, a question, as it pleases you." Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, had a small voice, yet when he spoke larger men quieted to listen. Jon noticed for truly the first time, which his eyes were curiously pale, almost without colour, and his look disturbing. "It is said that you hold Lord Tywin's dwarf son as captive. Have you brought him to us? I vow, we should make good use of such a hostage."

"I did hold Tyrion Lannister, but no longer," Cateyln admitted. "Though it was my mistake to all the seven kingdoms that I did. The man was innocent of any crimes, to my belief. Robb and Jon corrected my thoughts, but it was too late. The gods saw fit to free him, though help from my fool of a sister almost got him killed right there and then." She seemed to hiding a lot of contempt when she mentioned Lysa Arryn. Jon reasoned maybe that sisters parted on less than friendly terms.

The other lords were anxious for more information. It was a small set back, but they could manage. At least Tyrion knew the truth he hoped. He didn't want their friendship to break no matter if they were on opposing sides. Tyrion may not like his family but they were tied by blood.

Cateyln raised a hand. "No doubt we will have time for all this later, but my journey has fatigued me. I would speak with my son and step-son alone. I know you will forgive me, my lords." She gave them no choice; led by the ever-obliging Lord Hornwood, the bannermen bowed and took their leave. "And you, Theon," she added when Theon lingered. He smiled and left them. Jon wondered why she hadn't asked him to leave as well.

She gestured for them both to come forward and when they did, she reached out and hugged them both as a group. "My sons," she whispered in their ears, making Jon almost brim with tears. She let them go and Robb seemed flustered.

Cateyln stepped back and examined both of them. A flicker of amusement appeared on her face. "You've both grown so much taller. Both of you sixteen and men. Before, Jon was the smaller though now both of you are practically the same height. Robb, your face seems hard and mature. You look a lot like Edmure when he was sixteen." She looked at Jon. "Jon, you look so much like your late uncle Brandon. You have grown more muscular than the last time and your features are sharper."

Jon looked down at himself and realised she was right. Though he was still lean, his body was now covered in thickening layers of muscle which he earned from training in the yard with the other men. It had been hard and gruelling, but had earned him the skill to fight harder and to withstand punishment.

"Sixteen," Robb echoed.

"And leading a host to war. Can you understand why I fear Robb?" Cateyln said.

His brother face grew stubborn. "There was no one else."

"No one?" she said. "Pray, who were those men I saw here a moment ago? Roose Bolton, Rickard Karstark, Galbart and Robett Glover, the Greatjon, Heiman Tallhart... you might have given the command to any of them. Gods be good, you might even have sent Theon, though he would not be my choice."

"They are not Starks," he said.

"They are men, Robb, seasoned in battle. Jon and you were fighting with wooden swords less than a year past."

"We've both adept at live steel. Jon is as good as anyone in Westeros. Sharp, deadly, fast and agile. He could give the Kingslayer a run for his father's money."

Jon saw anger in his eyes at that, but it was gone as quick as it came, and suddenly he was Robb, the heir to Winterfell again. "I know," he said, abashed. "Are you... are you sending me back to Winterfell?"

Catelyn sighed. "I should. You ought never to have left. Yet I dare not, not now. You have come too far. Someday these lords will look to you as their liege. If I pack you off now, like a child being sent to bed without his supper, they will remember, and laugh about it in their cups. The day will come when you need them to respect you, even fear you a little. Laughter is poison to fear. I will not do that to you, much as I might wish to keep you safe."

"You have my thanks, Mother," he said, his relief obvious beneath the formality of the lord.

Cateyln reached across his table and touched his hair. "You are my firstborn, Robb. I have only to look at you to remember the day you came into the world, red-faced and squalling." Jon silently grinned inside. He kept his silence though. This was a conversation for mother and son.

He was clearly uncomfortable with her touch though Jon would have welcomed it, and walked to the hearth. Grey Wind rubbed his head against his leg. "You know... about Father?"

"Yes," Cateyln replied. "Lord Manderly told me when I landed at White Harbor. Have you had any word of your sisters?"

"There was a letter," Robb said, scratching his direwolf under the jaw. "One for you as well, but it came to Winterfell with mine." He went to the table, rummaged among some maps and papers, and returned with a crumpled parchment. "This is the one she wrote me, I never thought to bring yours."

Cateyln took it and read. Disbelief showed on her face as she looked at both of them incredulous. "This is Cersei's words, not Sansa."

"We know my lady," Jon replied. "Maester Luwin pointed that out to us. Sansa though my sister is naïve would not write this on purpose." He didn't want to think of the alternative.

Cateyln nodded. ""The real message is in what Sansa does not say. All this about how kindly and gently the Lannisters are treating her... I know the sound of a threat, even whispered. They have Sansa hostage, and they mean to keep her."

"There's no mention of Arya," Robb pointed out, miserable.

"Sansa and Arya did not seem to be on good terms with each other, not even after what happened to Father," Jon said. "Perhaps she forgot to mention?"

"That seems logical," Cateyln said.

"I had hoped... if you still held the Imp, a trade of hostages..." Robb took Sansa's letter and crumpled it in his fist. It was not the first time.

"Is there word from the Eyrie? I wrote to Aunt Lysa, asking help. Has she called Lord Arryn's banners, do you know? Will the knights of the Vale come join us?"

"Only one, which is your great uncle. He is one of the best, but your aunt will not stir herself."

Jon had not expected that, but it did not matter. Robb took it hard.

"Mother, what are we going to do? I brought this whole army together, almost twenty one thousand men, but I don't... I'm not certain..." He looked at his mother, his eyes shining, the sixteen year old lord melted away in an instant, and quick as that he was a child again, a boy looking to his mother for answers. It may have worked before, but not now.

Cateyln seemed to realise it too.

"What are you so afraid of, my son," Cateyln asked gently.

"I..." He turned his head away, to hide the first tear. "If we march... even if we win... the Lannisters hold Sansa, and Father. They'll kill them, won't they?"

"They want us to think so." Jon said.

"You mean they're lying?"

"I do not know, Robb. What I do know is that you have no choice. If you go to King's Landing and swear fealty, you will never be allowed to leave," Cateyln said honestly. "If you turn your tail and retreat to Winterfell, your lords will lose all respect for you. Some may even go over to the Lannisters. Then the queen, with that much less to fear, can do as she likes with her prisoners. Our best hope, our only true hope, is that you can defeat the foe in the field. If you should chance to take Lord Tywin or the Kingslayer captive, why then a trade might very well be possible, but that is not the heart of it. So long as you have power enough that they must fear you, Ned and your sister should be safe. Cersei is wise enough to know that she may need them to make her peace, should the fighting go against her."

"The queen does not seem wise enough," Jon muttered. "It's her son that I'm worried about." Robb nodded in agreement.

"What if the fighting doesn't go against her?" Robb asked. "What if it goes against us?"

Catelyn took his hand. "Robb, I will not soften the truth for you. If you lose, there is no hope for any of us. They say there is naught but stone at the heart of Casterly Rock. Remember the fate of Rhaegar's children."

Jon knew what she meant. Robb had been barely born at that time, but he was still in his mother's womb ready to be born in a month's time.

"Princess Rhaenys was stabbed half a hundred times by Ser Amory Lorch," Robb said softly. He looked over at Jon and his bastard brother noticed his expression soften in pity. "Prince Aegon's head was smashed in while his mother was raped and murdered by Ser Gregor Clegane, with the brains of her son in his hands." He shuddered.

"I will avenge them for you." He said so quietly that Jon almost did not hear. He had no idea who Robb was speaking too.

Their fear in Robb's blue eyes then, but there was strength as well. "Then I will not lose," he vowed.

"That's good to hear brother." Jon said, smiling.

Cateyln turned to Jon and gripped his shoulders. "When did you become a master strategist in war? Not even some of the king's highest lords could come up with that plan."

Jon was annoyed how people were applauding him. It was just simple observations. He didn't mind it of course. "It was nothing. The solution was staring right down under our noses. It will be harder once we reach the Riverlands though."

"Robb and you are such good leaders," Cateyln observed. "You'd be great kings."

"Let's not jump to hefty conclusions from simple talk mother," Robb said. He leaned against the table and stared down through his shaggy auburn hair onto the maps.

Lady Catelyn sighed then and said "Very well then, but how'll you get to the Riverlands? I heard most of Jon's plan but the other details miss me."

Jon looked at Robb who said, "We need Walder Frey's bridge if we hope to cross with our whole might."

"I would not rely on Old Walder to be so willing to give you his bridge my lord. During Robert's Rebellion the man waited until well into the battle of the Trident before he joined his strength to that of your father's. He is a cautious man by nature and age will have made him more so, he will want you to pay a toll and pay it you shall have to if you wish to cross." Cateyln told them.

Jon nodded gravely while Robb said. "I am willing to pay the price no matter as long as it is within my power and reasonable."

They befell a silence. Jon could see Cateyln wanted to say more, but something held her back. "Robb, may I have your permission to leave? I seem to remember that you wanted to speak with your mother and our aunt alone at one point? This may be in the most appropriate time."

Cateyln almost gasped. "Why in seven hells is Lyanna here? It is not safe."

"What about you?" Robb said quietly. "And anyway, I asked her to come after speaking to her in private. There are a few…things I would like to discuss." Jon did not like the sound of that.

Jon sighed. "Do you want me to ask a messenger to send for our aunt? I believe she's still in the godswood."

"There's a godswood in this ruin?" Cateyln asked.

Jon nodded and Robb said. "Thank you Jon."

Jon bowed and took his leave of the hall. Ghost silently followed, but then trailed off in the opposite direction. Jon guessed he was going to hunt. After relaying Robb's message to a nearby camp courier, Jon passed by the major tents of the different noble houses. As he made for his room in the Gatehouse Tower, a voice called out to him.

"Hey, boy," Jon turned towards the sound and saw the Blackfish sitting on a log with three fourteen year old squires drinking wine. "Jon, come sit my young man. I'm sharing war stories and you might like them though you've probably heard them." Jon did not even need to be asked twice.

He sat next a brown haired handsome boy who had a wide grin on his face. "Blackfish was telling was about when Barristan Selmy, a few knights and he formed a small wartime group."

"The war was short yes, but bloody," Ser Brynden said. He handed Jon a flagon of summer wine. "No one knows as we kept it well as secret, but my brother, Barristan, three other men - seven save their souls - we were lauded during the battles because we were not afraid to die and fought in the front lines voluntarily," Ser Brynden sipped at his wine.

"So, you were suicidally dangerous?

"I don't know about Barristan, but the rest…" Blackfish grinned at himself.

"When we cleaved our way through the Golden Company, my brother was almost killed by a flying axe sent by a Tyroshi noblewoman if you could believe it or not. Ser Roderick of House Algood, saved his life by jumping in front of the axe and grabbing by the steel with his large hands. Took it off, but saved Hoster's life. It was so slow that I almost got shot up an arrow by a bloody Blackfyre. Almost."

Ser Brynden continued his stories, and Jon listened fascinated. Jon knew after the squires had left, he had made a friend of the Blackfish as they sang those old ribald of war and bloodshed. Jon hoped this war would end in happiness.

**Robb **

Robb watched his brother leave the hall and smiled after him. The godswood wasn't that far and his aunt would be in the hall in around ten minutes or so. He did not speak, or neither did his mother who was watching his face, trying to see what her son was going to say. Robb made sure his face remained the same as before – calm and collected. Just like father's was if he was handling things he was nervous about.

He had to tell them he knew, both of them. The secret was scratching at his throat like a mountain lion. After what happened in the library tower he knew beyond a doubt. Robb did not want the truth confirmed for his own personal gain. No, it was for his family.

"Robb, what's wrong?" His mother asked gently.

"Nothing is wrong, mother," Robb said. He turned away to avoid eye contact. Only his mother knew how much of a bad liar he was. "I just need to ask you something, actually clarify, something for me."

Cateyln nodded slowly. _Good, Robb thought, she doesn't suspect a thing. _

There was a rush of cold air as the door was opened to let in someone into the hall. Robb shivered and tugged at the furs around his shoulders. Lyanna Stark walked carefully towards both of them. She stopped near his mother.

"Is something the matter Robb?" Lyanna asked. She seemed to be in a bit of a hurry.

Robb stared into the fires, wondering on how he was going to play this. _Should I lead into the conversation or begin bluntly? _He chose the latter, but chose to lead into those words. Robb Stark wasn't a cruel man after all.

Robb put his hands behind his back and walked up to stand next to seat. "Mother, Aunt Lyanna, I called both of you here privately because I would like to talk to you about something that has been scratching at the back of my mind for the past few years. Something, that I believe that both of you have the answers too."

Suspicion ran through Cateyln Stark's eyes. Lyanna kept her silence.

"I always knew my father as an honourable man. A man who took his values of justice, honour and duty very seriously even in the face of death. I strove to take after my father in those aspects. Eddard Stark took the values from a young age for he told me. But then, suddenly after coming home from the war, Lord Stark, the most honour bound man known in the Seven Kingdoms, brings with him a product of infidelity, a bastard son fathered after the nuptials of his marriage with a woman who he had been in love with, but swore to himself he could not have. Ever,"

Robb paused and carefully watched the two females in front of him. His aunt as did Arya did not catch on to what he was saying immediately. His mother however looked like she knew his suggestion's meaning.

"Now at the same time, father's sister reappears on the on Westeros at exactly the same after around a year and a half with Lord Stark's bastard, guarded by three member of the Mad King's legendary Kingsguard. Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent – three men who should have forsworn their vow to Rhaegar Targaryen to guard the Tower of Joy and head to Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys, the rightful heirs to the Iron Throne at that time according to Targaryen succession. Robert was a usurper after all. When Jon was given Winterfell as his home, my mother did not treat him as an outcast, but as a son."

Horror went through Cateyln face, Robb realising she knew what she meant. Lyanna kept her silence still. _They both know that I know. _

"As Jon grew, I realised that although he resembled father greatly, something was missing. They said Jon Snow looked more of the Stark than Eddard's own son, at least in the North. Looking at Jon now, I would disagree. Jon takes a lot after his own relatives than his own father, which I found curious. Especially you Lyanna, his eyes are not the eyes of a Dornish Dayne. They were the purple eyes of fire."

Robb pointed at them accusingly. "I know the secret that you have been hiding for the past sixteen years. Jon is not my half-brother but is my cousin. Eddard Stark is not his father but his uncle. No, his real father is Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his mother, you, Lyanna Stark. He is a Targaryen of the North. He is the heir to the throne."

The look on their faces made Robb hold his head up high and was all the confirmation that he needed, though he felt ashamed afterwards. He felt proud that he had been clever enough to decipher this veiled, cunning mystery and secret that they had been hiding.

Lyanna Stark's eyes turned cold and furious, fire raging like a direwolf as grey turned into the blackest night. Before Robb could react, she bounded forward and grabbed his collar, spun him around and slammed him against the wall hardly. Robb's head cracked against the wall. Cateyln went out to pull Lyanna off, but she only glared and refused to budge.

She turned at Robb viciously. "What are you going to do with this information Robb? Are you going to crown him as a king, use him for your own gain? I will never let you do that. I hid the truth to protect him from this damn cruel world."

Robb pushed her off him with some effort. She had a remarkably strong grip. "I would never to that to Jon. He is still my brother no matter who his true parents are, and even if he is my cousin by blood. No, I want you to tell him the truth after we take back Riverrun. You have been living this lie for sixteen years and he deserves to know. What he does with the information is up to him."

His mother put a hand on his shoulder. "Robb, you must understand that your father kept his identity a secret for his own safety."

"You think I don't know that?" Robb asked his mother. "King Robert hated the Targaryens. He would have killed Jon if he found out who he was, regardless of his mother."

He looked at both of them, patting at his cloak. "King Robert is dead. Jon's not in danger anymore unless Joffrey…"

_By the old gods and the new, Joffrey is the new king. That little royal prick now is in control of most of the Seven Kingdoms. _The idea of Joffrey Baratheon holding power did not sit well with Robb Stark. They had been so caught up in preparing to fight the Lannisters than he had forgotten the boy-king on the throne.

Lyanna looked stricken. "What do you want us to do Robb? It'll kill him if he finds out that your father is not _his father._ Jon will hate Cateyln, Ned and I for not telling him the truth all those years ago."

"He'll hate both of you even more if the truth comes from my mouth," Robb countered. "And I will tell him if you don't, I swear." He could say no more because he knew had had one.

Lyanna put her head in her hands and growled angrily. "I know what you say is right Robb, but…I do not know if-"

"It does not have to be this night," Robb said. "After we take Riverrun – we already have enough on our hands, Jon especially doesn't need distractions that could get him killed."

"Is this why you brought your aunt to the battleground?" His mother asked.

"It was." He answered.

Cateyln slowly nodded and sighed. "My son, what you ask of us if truly too frightening and difficult. But…you are right. Jon deserves to know especially now he is sixteen."

Robb came closer to his aunt and hesitantly put an arm around her shoulder. She did not refuse.

"Aunt, don't you worry. By the laws of man Jon may be a Targaryen, but he is a Stark as Bran, Rickon, Sansa, Arya, you and I are. We're all family." He wanted to believe that Father would come back to them, but Robb had to resign to the fact that they might kill him. It would not certainly mean he would not try to get the Lord of Winterfell back.

Lyanna nodded, though she seemed more distant. She walked towards the door and looked and both of them. "Sorry, my lord, I have to go. I must pray in the godswood for my brother."

_And other things._

When Lyanna left, Cateyln and Robb stood there in an awkward silence. "Mother-"

"Please, my son," Catelyn held out a hand. "It's okay. We'll take about Jon later. Now, tell me more about this plan you're using. I'm assuming you had already come with the plan Jon told all of you?"

Robb grinned. "We discussed it on the ride to Moat Cailin. We had not really thought of Old Walder Frey but it seems Jon was the only one who really listened to you about him. I swear Jon has a great mind for strategy."

Robb recalled his mother telling him that during the rebellion, the Frey bannermen had arrived after Rhaegar Targaryen was killed by King Robert. His grandfather Hoster Tully called him the Late Walder Frey afterwards.

"Do you think you can win this war Robb?" His mother placed a protective hand on his shoulder. Robb did not answer. He truly did not know.

**Cateyln**

_My son knows the truth. That clever, observant boy knows Jon's parents. _Everyone said that Jon was the more observant of the two and Cateyln agreed with them for the most part, but she had underestimated her own son's skills. Robb would grow up to be a great lord, with advisors who would be true to him.

As the host trooped down the causeway through the black bogs of the Neck and spilled out into the Riverlands beyond, Catelyn's apprehensions grew. She masked her fears behind a face kept still and stern, yet they were there all the same, growing with every league they crossed.

She feared for her lord father, and wondered at the silence that came from Riverrun.

She feared for her brother Edmure, and prayed that the gods would watch over him if he must face the Kingslayer in battle.

She feared for Ned and her girls, and for the sweet sons she had left behind at Winterfell.

And yet there was nothing she could do for any of them, and so she made herself put all thought of them aside.

_You must save your strength for Robb and Jon, _she told herself. _They are the only people you can help. You must be as fierce and hard as the north, Catelyn Tully. You must be a Stark for true now, like your son._

Robb rode at the front of the column, beneath the flapping white banner of Winterfell. Each day he would ask one of his lords to join him, so they might confer as they marched. He honoured every man in turn, showing no favourites, listening as his lord father had listened, weighing the words of one against the other. He has learned so much from Ned, she thought as she watched him, but has he learned enough?

Jon rode in the first line of the column talking with the other lords, ladies and soldiers, trying to ease their discomfort of war with humour and reassurance.

They both took so much from Ned that when they did eventually reach Riverrun, it would pain Cateyln to know ends to reveal the hidden secret.

Lyanna rode beside her, though she was cheerful than the last time Cateyln had seen her good-sister.

"How are we going to cross that bridge?" Lyanna asked. _I wonder why she wasn't let in on the battle plans._

"I don't know Lyanna, but the Frey's take their toll. Even though they are my father's bannermen they decided to remain neutral. I imagine my father is furious."

The Blackfish had taken a hundred picked men and a hundred swift horses and raced ahead to screen their movements and scout the way. The reports Ser Brynden's riders brought back did little to reassure her. Lord Tywin's host was still many days to the south... but Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing, had assembled a force of near four thousand men at his castles on the Green Fork.

"Late again," Catelyn murmured when she heard. It was the Trident all over. Her brother Edmure had called the banners; by rights, Lord Frey should have gone to join the Tully host at Riverrun, yet here he sat.

"Four thousand men," Robb repeated, more perplexed than angry. "Lord Frey cannot hope to fight the Lannisters by himself. Surely he means to join his power to ours."

"Does he?" Catelyn asked. She had ridden forward to join Robb and Robett Glover, his companion of the day. The vanguard spread out behind them, a slow-moving forest of lances and banners and spears. "I wonder. Expect nothing of Walder Frey, and you will never be surprised."

"He's your father's bannermen."

"Frey is a cautious man," Jon said. "It was wise of him to stay neutral. Whoever is wining he'll sway to their side."

"Some men take their oaths more seriously than others, Robb. And Lord Walder was always friendlier with Casterly Rock than my father would have liked. One of his sons is wed to Tywin Lannister's sister though Tywin himself disapproved of the match. That means little of itself, to be sure. Lord Walder has fathered a great many children over the years, and they need marry someone. Still..."

That night they made camp on the southern edge of the bogs, halfway between the Kingsroad and the river. It was there Theon Greyjoy brought them further word from her uncle. "Ser Brynden says to tell you he's crossed swords with the Lannisters. There are a dozen scouts who won't be reporting back to Lord Tywin anytime soon. Or ever." He grinned. "Ser Addam Marbrand commands their outriders, and he's pulling back south, burning as he goes. He knows where we are, more or less, but the Blackfish vows he will not know when we split."

"Unless Lord Frey tells him," Catelyn said sharply. "Theon, when you return to my uncle, tell him he is to place his best bowmen around the Twins, day and night, with orders to bring down any raven they see leaving the battlements. I want no birds bringing word of my son's movements to Lord Tywin."

"Ser Brynden has seen to it already, my lady," Theon replied with a cocky smile. "A few more blackbirds and we should have enough to bake a pie. I'll save you their feathers for a hat."

She ought to have known that Brynden Blackfish would be well ahead of her. "What have the Freys been doing while the Lannisters; burn their fields and plunder their holdfasts?"

"There's been some fighting between Ser Addam's men and Lord Walder's," Theon answered. "Not a day's ride from here, we found two Lannister scouts feeding the crows where the Freys had strung them up. Most of Lord Walder's strength remains massed at the Twins, though."

Those actions bores Walder Frey's seal beyond a doubt.

"If he's been fighting the Lannisters, perhaps he does mean to hold to his vows," Robb said.

Catelyn was less encouraged. "Defending his own lands is one thing, open battle against Lord Tywin quite another."

"He should be lucky we aren't considering punishing him for treason. Your father is his liege lord and he should be defending _him. _A vassal is sworn to his lord, not the king. It is the vassal who is responsible for fealty to the Iron Throne." Jon said. Robb was right in that. Ned would have said something along those lines.

Lyanna said. "Lord Frey is abiding. He wants either side to make a move."

Robb turned back to Theon Greyjoy. "Has the Blackfish found any other way across the Green Fork?"

Theon shook his head. "The river's running high and fast. Ser Brynden says it can't be forded, not this far north."

"I must have that crossing!" Robb declared, fuming. "Lord Tywin is marching north." He balled his hand into a fist.

"Lord Frey would be a fool to try and bar our way," Theon Greyjoy said with his customary easy confidence. "We have five times his numbers. You can take the Twins if you need to, Robb."

"Not easily," Catelyn warned them, "and not in time. While you were mounting your siege, Lord Tywin could attack on by the rear. It is easily manageable. Perhaps Lord Walder is playing both sides in his own game."

"A siege is the worst idea Theon," Jon said. "It would waste time and resources that our army needs to fight the Lannisters. We aren't even at full-strength!" _How is it that Jon always understands me more than Robb? _It was all those books he read she thought.

Robb glanced between all three of them, considering their words carefully. He looked like a grown person now.

The next morning it was Ser Brynden Tully himself who rode back to them. He had put aside the heavy plate and helm he'd worn as the Knight of the Gate for the lighter leather-and-mail of an outsider, but his obsidian fish still fastened his cloak.

Her uncle's face was grave as he swung down off his horse. "There has been a battle under the walls of Riverrun," he said, his mouth grim. "We had it from a Lannister outrider we took captive. The Kingslayer has destroyed Edmure's host and sent the lords of the Trident reeling in flight."

A cold hand clutched at Catelyn's heart. "And my brother?"

"Wounded and taken prisoner," Ser Brynden said. "Lord Blackwood and the other survivors are under siege inside Riverrun, surrounded by Jaime's host."

Robb looked frustrated. "We must get across this accursed river if we're to have any hope of relieving them in time."

"That will not be easily done," her uncle cautioned. "Lord Frey has pulled his whole strength back inside his castles, and his gates are closed and barred."

Before Robb could retort, to say something childish, Jon spoke. It seemed every time he said something Robb would always listen. "The Freys have held that bridge for all those years. We need a deal with them," He looked at her. "A toll."

And Jon told them what this toll might entail. Cateyln could tell her son was furious as was she, but he kept his cool like his father, collected and calm. _I had hoped he would be able to choose his own heart, but this game of politics we play our hearts must be severed from our mind._

* * *

It was near midday when their vanguard came in sight of the Twins.

The Green Fork ran swift and deep here, but the Freys had spanned it many centuries past and grown rich off the coin men paid them to cross. Their bridge was a massive arch of smooth grey rock, wide enough for two wagons to pass abreast; the Water Tower rose from the centre of the span, commanding both road and river with its arrow slits, murder holes, and portcullises. It had taken the Freys three generations to complete their bridge; when they were done they'd thrown up stout timber keeps on either bank, so no one might cross without their leave.

The timber had long since given way to stone. The Twins-two squat, ugly, formidable castles, identical in every respect, with the bridge arching between-had guarded the crossing for centuries. High curtain walls, deep moats, and heavy oak-and-iron gates protected the approaches, the bridge footings rose from within stout inner keeps, there was a barbican and portcullis on either bank, or the Water Tower defended the span itself.

One glance was sufficient to tell Catelyn that the castle would not be taken by storm. The battlements bristled with spears and swords and scorpions, there was an archer at every crenel and arrow slit, the drawbridge was up, the portcullis down, the gates closed and barred.

The other lords could see it too.

The Greatjon began to curse and swear as soon as he saw what awaited them. Lord Rickard Karstark glowered in silence. "That cannot be assaulted, my lords," Roose Bolton announced.

"Nor can we take it by siege, without an army on the far bank to invest the other castle," Helman Tallhart said gloomily. Across the deep-running green waters, the western twin stood like a reflection of its eastern brother. "Even if we had the time. Which, to be sure, we do not."

As the northern lords studied the castle, a sally port opened, a plank bridge slid across the moat, and a dozen knights rode forth to confront them, led by four of Lord Walder's many sons. Their banner bore twin towers, dark blue on a field of pale silver-grey.

Ser Stevron Frey, Lord Walder's heir, spoke for them. The Freys all looked like weasels; Ser Stevron, past sixty with grandchildren of his own, looked like an especially old and tired weasel, yet he was polite enough. "My lord father has sent me to greet you, and inquire as to who leads this mighty host."

"I do." Robb spurred his horse forward. He was in his armour, with the direwolf shield of Winterfell strapped to his saddle and Grey Wind padding by his side.

The old knight looked at her son with a faint flicker of amusement in his watery grey eyes, though his gelding whickered uneasily and sidled away from the direwolf.

"My lord father would be most honoured if you would share meat and mead with him in the castle and explain your purpose here."

Not one of the lords approved. They cursed, argued, shouted down each other.

"You must not do this, my lord," Galbart Glover pleaded with Robb. "Lord Walder is not to be trusted."

Roose Bolton nodded. "Go in there alone and you're his. He can sell you to the Lannisters, throw you in a dungeon, or slit your throat, as he likes."

"I agree. You can't go in Robb yourself. You are Lord of Winterfell and your life is paramount." Jon said.

"Or let him come out and treat with Robb here, in plain sight of his men and ours," suggested his brother, Ser Wylis.

Catelyn Stark shared all their doubts, but she had only to glance at Ser Stevron to see that he was not pleased by what he was hearing. A few more words and the chance would be lost. She had to act, and quickly. "I will go, "She said loudly.

"You, my lady?" The Greatjon furrowed his brow.

"Mother, are you certain?" Clearly, Robb was not.

"Never more," Catelyn lied glibly. "Lord Walder is my father's bannermen. I have known him since I was a girl. He would never offer me any harm." Unless he saw some profit in it, she added silently, but some truths did not bear saying, and some lies were necessary.

"I am certain my lord father would be pleased to speak to the Lady Catelyn," Ser Stevron said. "To vouchsafe for our good intentions, my brother Ser Perwyn will remain here until she is safely returned to you."

"He shall be our honoured guest," said Robb.

Lyanna came forward. "Let me come with you Cateyln."

"No," Robb said. "That's too dangerous-"

"Of course," Cateyln cut in before Robb started a diplomatic incident. She looked at Ser Stevron. "Provided that is fine with Lord Walder?"

Ser Stevron nodded and his eyes gazed over Lyanna, more amusement. "We have heard much of Lady Lyanna."

Lyanna whispered into her ear. "I'll be there for you Cateyln."

All she could do was nod.

Ser Perwyn, the youngest of the four Freys in the party, dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a brother. "I require my lady mother's return by evenfall, Ser Stevron," Robb went on. "It is not my intent to linger here long."

Ser Stevron Frey gave a polite nod. "As you say, my lord." Catelyn spurred her horse forward and did not look back. Lord Walder's sons and envoys fell in around her.

* * *

Her father had once said of Walder Frey that he was the only lord in the Seven Kingdoms who could field an army out of his breeches. When the Lord of the Crossing welcomed Catelyn in the great hall of the east castle, surrounded by twenty living sons (minus Ser Perwyn, who would have made twenty-one), thirty-six grandsons, nineteen great-grandsons, and numerous daughters, granddaughters, bastards, and grandbastards, she understood just what he had meant.

Lord Walder was ninety, a wizened pink weasel with a bald spotted head, too gouty to stand unassisted. His newest wife, a pale frail girl of sixteen years, walked beside his litter when they carried him in. She was the eighth Lady Frey.

"It is a great pleasure to see you again after so many years, my lord," Catelyn said.

"My lord, an honour to meet you at long last." Lyanna said politely.

The old man squinted at Cateyln suspiciously after giving Lyanna a brief nod of acknowledgment. "Is it? I doubt that. Spare me your sweet words, Lady Catelyn, I am too old. Why are you here? Is your boy too proud to come before me himself? What am I to do with you?"

"Father," Ser Stevron said reproachfully, "you forget yourself. Lady Stark is here at your invitation."

"Did I ask you? You are not Lord Frey yet, not until I die. Do I look dead? I'll hear no instructions from you."

They shifted Lord Walder from his litter and carried him to the high seat of the Freys, a tall chair of black oak whose back was carved in the shape of two towers linked by a bridge. His young wife crept up timidly and covered his legs with a blanket.

"Why are you here?"

"To ask you to open your gates, my lord," Catelyn replied politely. "My son and his lord's bannermen are most anxious to cross the river and be on their way."

"To Riverrun?" He sniggered. "Oh, no need to tell me, no need. I'm not blind yet. The old man can still read a map."

"To Riverrun," Catelyn confirmed. She saw no reason to deny it. "Where I might have expected to find you, my lord. You are still my father's bannermen, are you not?"

"Heh," said Lord Walder, a noise halfway between a laugh and a grunt. "I called my swords, yes I did, here they are, and you saw them on the walls. It was my intent to march as soon as all my strength was assembled. Well, to send my sons. I am well past marching myself, Lady Catelyn."

He looked around for likely confirmation and pointed to a tall, stooped man of fifty years. "Tell her, Jared. Tell her that was my intent."

"It was, my lady," said Ser Jared Frey, one of his sons by his second wife. "On my honor."

"He's correct in that part," Lyanna said.

"Is it my fault that your fool brother lost his battle before we could march?" He leaned back against his cushions and scowled at her, as if challenging her to dispute his version of events. "I am told the Kingslayer went through him like an axe through ripe cheese. Why should my boys hurry south to die? All those who did go south are running north again."

Catelyn would have happily flung him over a fire, but she had only till evenfall to open the bridge. Calmly, she said, "All the more reason that we must reach Riverrun, and soon. Where can we go to talk, my lord?"

"That would be much preferable," Lyanna said. "The business at hand is not pleasant."

"We're talking now," Lord Frey complained. The spotted pink head snapped around. "What are you all looking at?" he shouted at his kin. "Get out of here. Both Lady Stark's wants to speak to me in private. Might be she has designs on my fidelity, heh. Go, all of you, find something useful to do. Yes, you too, woman. Out, out, out."

As his sons and grandsons and daughters and bastards and nieces and nephews streamed from the hall, he leaned close to Catelyn and confessed, "They're all waiting for me to die. Stevron's been waiting for forty years, but I keep disappointing him. Heh. Why should I die just so he can be a lord? I ask you. I won't do it."

"I have every hope that you will live to be a hundred."

"That would break their heart, to be sure. Oh, to be sure. Now, what do you want to say?"

"We want to cross," Catelyn told him.

"Oh, do you? That's blunt. Why should I let you?"

Lyanna angered. "If you were strong enough to climb your own battlements, Lord Frey, you would see that my nephew has twenty thousand men outside your walls."

"They'll be twenty thousand fresh corpses when Lord Tywin gets here," the old man shot back.

"Don't you try and frighten me, my ladies. Lord Stark's in some traitor's cell under the Red Keep, Lord Tully's sick, might be dying, and Jaime Lannister's got your Edmure in chains. What do you have that I should fear? That son of yours? I'll match you son for son, and I'll still have eighteen when yours are all dead."

"You swore an oath to my father," Catelyn reminded him.

"A vassal is sworn to the King. A bannerman is sworn to the vassal. Your obligation is too Lord Hoster." Lyanna said. Cateyln thought she eerily sounded like her own son when she said it, powerful and commanding. Perhaps that was where he got it from.

He bobbed his head side to side, smiling. "Oh, yes, I said some words, but I swore oaths to the crown too, it seems to me. Joffrey's the king now, and that makes Robb Stark, both of you and all those fool out there no better than rebels. True he is more Lannister than Baratheon, but so if your boy if you compare appearance, yet no one doubts him as a Stark."

"Why don't you?" Cateyln challenged him.

Lord Walder snorted with disdain. "Lord Tywin the proud and splendid, Warden of the West, Hand of the King, He thinks he's so powerful!" He cackled. "If Lord Tywin wants my help, he can bloody well ask for it."

That was all Catelyn needed to hear. "I am asking for your help, my lord," she said humbly. "And my father and my brother and my lord husband and my sons are asking with my voice."

Lord Walder jabbed a bony finger at her face. "Save your sweet words, my lady. Sweet words I get from my wife. Did you see her? Sixteen she is, a little flower, and her honeys only for me. I wager she gives me a son by this time next year. Perhaps I'll make him heir, wouldn't that boil the rest of them?"

"I'm certain she will give you many sons."

His head bobbed up and down. "Your lord father did not come to the wedding. An insult, as I see it. Even if he is dying. He never came to my last wedding either. He calls me the Late Lord Frey, you know. Does he think I'm dead? I'm not dead, and I promise you, I'll outlive him as I outlived his father. Your family has always pissed on me, don't deny it, don't lie, you know it's true. Years ago, I went to your father and suggested a match between his son and my daughter. Why not? I had a daughter in mind, sweet girl, only a few years older than Edmure, but if your brother didn't warm to her, I had others he might have had, young ones, old ones, virgins, widows, whatever he wanted. No, Lord Hoster would not hear of it. Sweet words he gave me, excuses, but what I wanted was to get rid of a daughter."

_Looks like his luck is about to shine again. Cateyln thought. Poor Edmure. _

"Such a shame Lord Hoster Tully did not choose to wed you're daughter to the heir of Riverrun," Lyanna said sarcastically. "The nerve. His most trusted bannerman who has always been their petitioning for his lord."

Cateyln was very surprised that he did not pick on the sarcasm. In fact, he seemed to agree with what she said.

"Yes, yes, yes," the old man said. "You say you want to cross the river?"

"We do."

"You can't!" Lord Walder announced crisply. "Not unless I allow it, and why should I? The Tullys and the Starks have never been friends of mine." He pushed himself back in his chair and crossed his arms, smirking, waiting for her answer.

Cateyln wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, but negotiations only could begin at that moment.

* * *

The sun head set when Cateyln and Lyanna rode back to re-join her son, nephew and the lord bannermen. Her good-sister did not seem happy about how things came down. "We did what we could Lyanna," Cateyln whispered.

She sighed.

Behind her came Ser Jared Frey, Ser Hosteen Frey, Ser Danwell Frey, and Lord Walder's bastard son Ronal Rivers, leading a long column of pikemen, rank on rank of shuffling men in blue steel ringmail and silvery grey cloaks.

Robb galloped out to meet her, with Grey Wind and Ghost racing beside his stallion though the white direwolf kept his silence. Jon rode behind him on the right, looking at the Frey soldiers intently.

"Lord Walder will grant you your crossing. His swords are yours as well, less four hundred he means to keep back to hold the Twins. I suggest that you leave four hundred of your own, a mixed force of archers and swordsmen. Make certain you give the command to a man you can trust. Lord Walder needs help keeping faith."

"As you say, Mother," Robb answered, gazing at the ranks of pikemen. "Perhaps... Ser Helman Tallhart, do you think?"

"A fine choice."

"What did he want of us?" asked Jon. So he had decided to go blunt.

Cateyln was surprised the Freys did not act hostile to the bastard. In fact, they seemed fascinated with the northern boy with purple eyes.

_It's always his damn Valyrian eyes. _

"If you can spare a few of your swords, I need some men to escort two of Lord Frey's grandsons north to Winterfell," she told Robb. "I have agreed to take them as wards. They are young boys, aged eight years and seven. It would seem they are both named Walder. Your brother Bran will welcome the companionship of lads near his own age, I should think."

"Is that all? Two fosterlings? That's a small enough price to-" Robb began

"Lord Frey's son Olyvar will be coming with us," she went on. "He is to serve as your personal squire. His father would like to see him knighted, in good time."

"A squire." He shrugged. "Fine, that's fine, if he's-"

"Also, if your sister Arya is returned to us safely, it was meant she marry one of his sons-"

"Absolutely not," Jon cut in. "Arya would be the worst wife to him and she would be most unhappy, something that I will not allow. She was never meant to marry."

He bowed his head to the Freys, who did not seem angered at his statement.

"Exactly. We made an even better deal with Lord Walder which he accepted more graciously, provided that we relieve Riverrun. My brother will marry one of his eldest daughters or granddaughters to tie the Twins and Riverrun more closely by blood."

Cateyln prayed to the Mother and the Father that her cherished brother would see sense and accept.

Robb sighed. "Uncle Edmure would not like that, from what I'm not. Apparently he likes to wench and-"

"And you are to wed one of his daughters, once the fighting is done," she finished. "His lordship has graciously consented to allow you to choose whichever girl you prefer. He has a number he thinks might be suitable."

To his credit, Robb did not flinch. "I see."

Jon chuckled very silently though Cateyln could see that he wanted to pat his brother on the back.

"Do you consent?"

"Can I refuse?"

"Not if you wish to cross."

"I consent," Robb said solemnly. He had never seemed manlier to her than he did in that moment. Boys might play with swords, but it took a lord to make a marriage pact, knowing what it meant.

They crossed at evenfall as a horned moon floated upon the river. All Cateyln looked at the massive host assembled, she hoped it would be all that was needed to defeat the Lannisters, save her family

_And rescue my husband. _

**_Next chapter is where the story dramatically changes from canon. I have to work on my dialouge for medieval talk, sorry about that. My favourite chapters are going to start probably when Ned "confesses". So much fun to write. _**


	8. Chapter 8

_**This is really not my best chapter in terms of commitment and strength in writing. Sorry, I've been busy with exams and revision as well as Grand Theft Auto Online as well as reading The House of Hades by Rick Riordan. That series just got intense in a good way.**_

_**But seriously, 100 followers! Thanks your guys so much for the support and encouragement in your reviews. I take constructive criticism and even rage to heart. Thanks for the positive feedback as well. Sorry these chapters take so long to write.**_

**Tyrion **

Chella, daughter of Cheyk, had scouted and found an army of Lannister bannermen on the crossroads. It was good news for Tyrion Lannister, as if thought the last few months he had been put through had been hell. Being taken captive by Lady Stark had been humiliating, but being taken to the Eyrie had been terrifying and not pleasant on his health. If they had gone back to Winterfell like he had thought, Tyrion knew Robb Stark and Jon Snow would have released him immediately and apologised. He was thankful Bronn had won the trial of combat for he did not like the Sky Cell, and he honestly thought death could wait. He would have his revenge of course.

He liked Bronn well enough and enjoyed his company, though his tongue could use some well sharpening for the lords above him. Tyrion also knew that the sellsword would defiantly betray him if the price was right. The mountain men he was amused by.

Tyrion had been flattered that his father had gone to war with the Tully's when the news of his capture had broken. He knew it had been for the family honour and not for his dwarf son, but he had to make do with what was being given. The Lannister soldiers had raided many keeps and villages south of the Trident and had burnt holdfasts to the ground. Tyrion had hoped to avoid war. He did not know the army Chella had seen was his father's or his brother's.

Distant watchers peered down from towers of unmortared stone as the party – Tyrion, Bronn, Shagga, Ulf, Chella and Timett - descended through the foothills, and once Tyrion saw a raven take wing. Where the high road twisted between two rocky outcrops, they came to the first strong point. A low earthen wall four feet high closed off the road and a dozen crossbowmen held the wall.

Tyrion halted his followers out of range and rode to the wall alone. "Who commands here?" he shouted up.

The captain was quick to appear, and even quicker to give them an escort when he recognized his lord's son. They trotted past blackened fields and burned holdfasts, down to the Riverlands and the Green Fork of the Trident. Tyrion saw no bodies, but the air was full of ravens and carrion crows; there had been fighting here, and recently.

Half a league from the crossroads, a barricade of sharpened stakes had been erected, manned by pikemen and archers. Behind the line, the camp spread out to the far distance. Thin fingers of smoke rose from hundreds of cook fires, mailed men sat under trees and honed their blades, and familiar banners fluttered from staffs thrust into the muddy ground. This was the aftermath of battle.

A party of mounted horsemen rode forward to challenge them as they approached led by Ser Flement Brax.

"Tyrion," he said in astonishment. "My lord, we all feared you dead or..." He looked at the clansmen uncertainly. "These... companions of yours..."

"Bosom friends and loyal retainers," Tyrion said. "Where will I find my lord father?"

"He has taken the inn at the crossroads for his quarters."

"I will see him at once." Tyrion led his party through.

Lord Tywin's camp spread over leagues. Chella's estimate of twenty thousand men could not be far wrong. The common men camped out in the open, but the knights had thrown up tents, and some of the high lords had erected pavilions as large as houses. Tyrion spied the red ox of the Presters, Lord Crakehall's brindled boar, the burning tree of Marbrand, the badger of Lydden.

Shagga was gaping. He probably never had seen so many men, horses, and weapons in his life. The rest of the mountain brigands did a better job of guarding their faces, but Tyrion had no doubts that they were full as much in awe. The more impressed they were with the power of the Lannisters, the easier they would be to command.

They reached in the inn and gave the boys their horses. A pair of house guards in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms stood under the inn's sign, on either side of the door. Tyrion recognized their captain. "My father?"

"In the common room m'lord,"

"My men will want meat and mead," Tyrion told him. "See that they get it." He entered the inn, and there was Father.

Lord Tywin Lannister was a large, powerful, broad shouldered man in his fifties. He was tall with long legs and a flat stomach. His thin arms were muscled cording. He was bald with pale green eyes common to Lannisters, which were flecked with gold. He razored his lip and chin but kept his side whiskers. He was still a handsome man though his face never gave in to emotion other than calm, hardness.

Ser Kevan Lannister, his father's only surviving brother, was sharing a flagon of ale with Lord Tywin when Tyrion entered the common room. His uncle was portly and balding, with a close-cropped yellow beard that followed the line of his massive jaw. Ser Kevan saw him first. "Tyrion," he said in happy surprise.

"Uncle," Tyrion said, bowing. "And my lord father. What a pleasure to find you here."

Lord Tywin did not stir from his chair, but he did give his dwarf son a long, searching look. "I see that the rumours of your demise were not true."

_Wouldn't that make you smile?_

"Sorry to disappoint once again," Tyrion said, sitting down in front of his father. "No need to leap up and embrace me, I wouldn't want you to strain yourself." He crossed the room to their table, acutely conscious of the way his stunted legs made him waddle with every step. Whenever his father's eyes were on him, he became uncomfortably aware. "Kind of you to go to war for me," he said as he climbed into a chair and helped himself to a cup of his father's ale.

"By my understanding, it was you who started this," Lord Tywin replied. "Your brother Jaime would never have meekly submitted to capture at the hands of a woman."

"Jaime is many things that I am not. He's taller as well, you may have noticed."

His father ignored the sally. "The honor of our House was at stake. I had no choice but to ride. No man sheds Lannister blood with impunity..."

"Hear Me Roar," Tyrion said, grinning. The Lannister words.

"I suppose you will want some new men."

"Don't trouble yourself, Father; I've acquired a few of my own. How is your war going?"

His uncle answered. "Well enough, for now. Ser Edmure had scattered small troops of men along his borders to stop our raiding, and your lord father and I were able to destroy most of them piecemeal before they could regroup."

"Your brother has been covering himself with glory," his father said. "He smashed the Lords Vance and Piper at the Golden Tooth, and met the massed power of the Tullys under the walls of Riverrun. Ser Edmure Tully was taken captive, with many of his knights and bannermen. Lord Blackwood led a few survivors back to Riverrun, where Jaime has them under siege."

_Very good._

"Your father and I have been marching on each in turn," Ser Kevan said. "With Lord Blackwood gone, Raventree fell at once, and Lady Whent yielded Harrenhal for want of men to defend it. Ser Gregor burnt out the Pipers and the Brackens..."

"Leaving you unopposed?" Tyrion said.

"Not wholly," Ser Kevan said. "The Mallisters still hold Seagard and House Frey are marshalling their levies at the Twins."

"No matter," Lord Tywin said. "Frey only takes the field when the scent of victory is in the air, and all he smells now is ruin. And Jason Mallister lacks the strength to fight alone. Once Jaime takes Riverrun, they will both be quick enough to bend the knee. Unless the Starks and the Arryns come forth to oppose us, this war is good as won."

"We don't have to worry about the Arryns," Tyrion said, confident. "It's the Starks that concern me. Lord Eddard-"

"-is our hostage," his father said. "He will lead no armies while he rots in a dungeon under the Red Keep."

"No," Ser Kevan agreed, "but his son has called the banners and sits at Moat Cailin with a strong host around him."

"No sword is strong until it's been tempered," Lord Tywin declared. "The Stark boy is a child. No doubt he likes the sound of warhorns well enough, and the sight of his banners fluttering in the wind, but in the end it comes down to butcher's work. I doubt he has the stomach for it."

Things had gotten interesting while he'd been away, Tyrion reflected. He wondered what would have happened if Jon Snow or Theon Greyjoy were in command "And what is our savouring monarch doing whilst all this is being done?" he wondered. "How has my lovely and persuasive sister gotten Robert to agree to the imprisonment of his dear friend Ned?"

"Robert Baratheon is dead," his father told him. "Your nephew reigns in King's Landing."

That did take Tyrion aback. "My sister, you mean." He took another gulp of his ale. The realm would be in hell now. He had liked Robert Baratheon for all his flaws though the man ignored the little dwarf.

"If you have a mind to make yourself of use, I will give you a command," his father said. "Marq Piper and Karyl Vance are loose in our rear, raiding our lands across the Red Fork."

Tyrion made a sound. "The gall of them, fighting back. Ordinarily I'd be glad to punish such rudeness, Father, but the truth is, I have pressing business elsewhere."

"Do you?" Lord Tywin did not seem awed. "We also have a pair of Ned Stark's afterthoughts making a nuisance of them by harassing my foraging parties. Beric Dondarrion, some young lordling with delusions of valour. He has that fat jape of a priest with him, the one who likes to set his sword on fire. Do you think you might be able to deal with them as you scamper off? Without making too much a botch of it?"

Tyrion wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled. "Father, it warms my heart to think that you might entrust me with... what, twenty men? Fifty? Are you sure you can spare so many? Well, no matter. If I should come across Thoros and Lord Beric, I shall spank them both." He climbed down from his chair and waddled to the sideboard, where a wheel of veined white cheese sat surrounded by fruit. "First, though, I have some promises of my own to keep," he said as he sliced off a wedge. "I shall require three thousand helms and as many hauberks, plus swords, pikes, steel spearheads, maces, battleaxes, gauntlets, gorgets, greaves, breastplates, wagons to carry all this-"

The door behind him opened with a crash, so violently that Tyrion almost dropped his cheese. Ser Kevan leapt up swearing as the captain of the guard went flying across the room to smash against the hearth. As he tumbled down into the cold ashes, his lion helm askew, Shagga snapped the man's sword in two over a knee thick as a tree trunk, threw down the pieces, and lumbered into the common room. He was preceded by his stench, riper than the cheese and overpowering in the closed space. "Little redcape," he snarled, "When next you bare steel on Shagga son of Dolf, I will chop off your manhood and roast it in the fire."

"What, no goats?" Tyrion said, taking a bite of cheese.

The other clansmen followed Shagga into the common room, Bronn with them. The sellsword gave Tyrion a rueful shrug.

"Who might you be?" Lord Tywin asked, cool as snow.

"They followed me home, Father," Tyrion explained. "May I keep them? They don't eat much."

No one was smiling. "By what right do you savages intrude on our councils?" demanded SerKevan.

"Savages, lowlander?" Conn might have been handsome if you washed him. "We are free men, and free men by rights sit on all war councils."

"Which one is the lion lord?" Chella asked.

"They are both old men," announced Timett son of Timett, who had yet to see his twentieth year.

Ser Kevan's hand went to his sword hilt, but his brother placed two fingers on his wrist and held him fast. Lord Tywin seemed unperturbed. "Tyrion, have you forgotten your courtesies? Kindly acquaint us with our... honoured guests."

Tyrion licked his fingers. "With pleasure," he said. "The fair maid is Chella daughter of Cheyk of the Black Ears."

"I'm no maid," Chella protested. "My sons have taken fifty ears among them."

"May they take fifty more?" Tyrion waddled away from her. "This is Conn son of Coratt. Shagga son of Dolf is the one who looks like Casterly Rock with hair. They are Stone Crows. Here is Ulf son of Umar of the Moon Brothers, and here Timett son of Timett, a red hand of the Burned Men. And this is Bronn, a sellsword of no particular allegiance. He has already changed sides twice in the short time I've known him, you and he ought to get on famously, Father."

To Bronn and the clansmen he said, "May I present my lord father, Tywin son of Tytos of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport, and once and future Hand of the King."

Lord Tywin rose, dignified and correct. "Even in the west, we know the prowess of the warrior clans of the Mountains of the Moon. What brings you down from your strongholds, my lords?"

"Horses," said Shagga.

"A promise of silk and steel," said Timett son of Timett.

Tyrion was about to tell his lords father how he proposed to reduce the Vale of Arryn to a smoking wasteland, but he was never given the chance. The door banged open again. The messenger gave Tyrion's clansmen a quick, queer look as he dropped to one knee before Lord Tywin.

"My lord," he said, "Ser Addam bid me tell you that the Stark host is moving down the causeway."

Lord Tywin Lannister did not smile. Lord Tywin never smiled, but Tyrion had learned to read his father's pleasure all the same, and it was there on his face. "So the wolfing is leaving his den to play among the lions," he said in a voice of quiet satisfaction. "Splendid. Return to Ser Addam and tell him to fall back. He is not to engage the northerners until we arrive, but I want him to harass their flanks and draw them farther south."

"It will be as you command." The rider left.

"We are well situated here," Ser Kevan pointed out. "Close to the ford and ringed by pits and spikes. If they are coming south, I say let them come, and break themselves against us."

"The boy may hang back or lose his courage when he sees our numbers," Lord Tywin replied. "The sooner the Starks are broken, the sooner I shall be free to deal with Stannis Baratheon who has made for Dragonstone in silence. Tell the drummers to beat assembly, and send word to Jaime that I am marching against Robb Stark."

* * *

On a hill overlooking the kingsroad, a long trestle table of rough-hewn pine had been erected beneath an elm tree and covered with a golden cloth. There, beside his pavilion, Lord Tywin took his evening meal with his chief knights and lords bannermen, his great crimson-and-gold standard waving overhead from a lofty pike.

Tyrion was late. _The day's march had been long and tiring._ He thought.

The cooks were serving the meat course: five suckling pigs, skin seared and crackling, a different fruit in every mouth. The smell made his mouth water. "My pardons," he began, taking his place on the bench beside his uncle.

"Ser Addam's outriders say the Stark host has moved south from the Twins," his father reported as his trencher was filled with slices of pork. "Lord Frey's levies have joined them. They are likely no more than a day's march north of us."

"Father, I know can't wait to give Robb Stark and his jolly men a good beating, but save it for the time."

He later found out he would be in the van being led by Ser Gregor Clegane and found himself not hungry.

The Lannister camp sprawled for miles between the river and the kingsroad. In amongst the men and the horses and the trees, it was easy to get lost, and Tyrion did. He passed a dozen great pavilions and a hundred cook fires. Fireflies drifted amongst the tents like wandering stars.

He sat camp with the mountain men and Bronn.

Lord Tywin had sent him a groom and a body servant to see to his needs, and even insisted he take a squire. They were seated around the embers of a small cookfire. A girl was with them; slim, dark-haired, no more than eighteen by the look of her. Tyrion studied her face for a moment, before he spied fishbones in the ashes. "What did you eat?"

"Trout, m'lord," said his groom. "Bronn caught them."

Trout, he thought. Suckling pig. Damn my father. He stared mournfully at the bones, his belly rumbling.

His squire, a boy with the unfortunate name of Podrick Payne, swallowed whatever he had been about to say. The lad was a distant cousin to Ser Ilyn Payne, the king's headsman... and almost as quiet, although not for want of a tongue. Tyrion had made him stick it out once, just to be certain. "Definitely a tongue," he had said. "Someday you must learn to use it."

Tyrion turned his attention back to the girl. "Is this her?" he asked Bronn.

_The Whore._

She rose gracefully and looked down at him from the lofty height of five feet or more. "It is, m'lord, and she can speak for herself, if it pleases you."

He cocked his head to one side. "I am Tyrion, of House Lannister. Men call me the Imp."

"My mother named me Shae. Men call me... often."

Bronn laughed with Tyrion.

He lifted the candle and looked her over as they were alone in his tent. Bronn had done well: she was doe-eyed and slim, with small firm breasts and a smile that was by turns shy, insolent, and wicked. He liked it.

"Shall I take my gown off, m'lord?" she asked.

"In good time. Are you a maiden, Shae?"

"If it pleases you, m'lord," she said demurely.

"What would please me would be the truth of you, girl."

"Aye, but that will cost you double."

Tyrion decided they would get along excellently.

Later, groggy, he sat up and threw back the blanket. The horns called through the night, wild and urgent. "My lord father's trumpets," he said. "Battle assembly. I thought Stark was yet a day's march away."

Shae shook her head, lost. Her eyes were wide and white.

Groaning, Tyrion lurched to his feet and pushed his way outside, shouting for his squire. Wisps of pale fog drifted through the night, long white fingers off the river.

Men and horses came through, saddles were being cinched, wagons loaded, fires extinguished. The trumpets blew again. Knights vaulted onto snorting coursers while men-at-arms buckled their sword belts as they ran. When he found Pod, the boy was snoring softly. Tyrion gave him a sharp poke in the ribs with his toe.

"My armour," he said, "and be quick about it." Bronn came trotting out of the mists, already armoured and horse, wearing his battered half helm. "Do you know what's happened?" Tyrion asked him.

"The Stark boy stole a march on us," Bronn said. "He crept down the kingsroad in the night, and now his host is less than a mile north of here, forming up in battle array."

"See that the clansmen are ready to ride." Tyrion ducked back inside his tent. "Where are my clothes?" he barked at Shae. "There. No, the leather, damn it. Yes. Bring me my boots."

By the time he was dressed, his squire had laid out his armour, such that it was. Tyrion owned a fine suit of heavy plate, expertly crafted to fit his misshapen body. Alas, it was safe at Casterly Rock, and he was not.

Once he was decked in armour from Lord Lefford's wagon, he saluted to Shae and trotted off with Pod and Bronn.

A war horn sounded in the far distance.

The clansmen climbed onto their scrawny mountain horses, shouting curses and rude jokes. Several appeared to be drunk. The rising sun was burning off the drifting tendrils of fog as Tyrion led them off. The mountain men fell in behind him, each clan arrayed behind its own leaders.

* * *

In the dawn light, the army of Lord Tywin Lannister came forward.

His uncle would lead the centre. Ser Kevan had raised his standards above the kingsroad. Quivers hanging from their belts, the foot archers arrayed themselves into three long lines, to east and west of the road, and stood calmly stringing their bows. Between them, pikemen formed squares; behind were rank on rank of men-at-arms with spear and sword and axe.

Three hundred heavy horse surrounded Ser Kevan and the lord's bannermen Lefford, Lydden, and Serrett with all their sworn retainers.

The right wing was all cavalry, some four thousand men, heavy with the weight of their armor. More than three quarters of the knights were there, massed together like a great steel fist. Ser Addam Marbrand had the command.

His lord father took his place on the hill where he had slept. Around him, the reserve assembled; a huge force, half mounted and half foot, five thousand strong. Lord Tywin almost always chose to command the reserve. He would take the high ground and watch the battle unfold below him, committing his forces when and where they were needed most.

Tyrion could hear the rumble of the enemy. He remembered Robb Stark as he had last seen him, in his father's high seat in the Great Hall of Winterfell, a sword naked and shining in his hands. He remembered how the direwolves had come at him out of the shadows. Would the boy bring his wolves to war with him? The thought made him uneasy.

Jon Snow made him unhappy. If he faced the bastard boy in battle, what would he do? They were enemies now, but Tyrion did not think he had it in himself to attempt to kill him. Of course, Jon would take of his head in his reluctance he knew. The boy was loyal to the bone.

The van was massing on the left. He saw the standard first, three black dogs on a yellow field. Ser Gregor sat beneath it, mounted on the biggest horse Tyrion had ever seen. Bronn took one look at him and grinned. "Always follow a big man into battle."

Tyrion threw him a hard look. "And why is that?"

"They make such splendid targets. That one, he'll draw the eyes of every bowman on the field."

He slowly laughed.

"Any man runs, I'll cut him down myself," he was roaring when he caught sight of Tyrion. "Imp! Take the left. Hold the river. If you can."

The left of the left. To turn their flank, the Starks would need horses that could run on water. Tyrion led his men toward the riverbank. "Look," he shouted, pointing with his axe. "The river."

"That river is ours. Whatever happens, keep close to the water. Never lose sight of it. Let no enemy come between us and our river. If they dirty our waters, hack off their cocks and feed them to the fishes."

Bronn drew his longsword, and suddenly the enemy was there before them, coming over the tops of the hills, advancing with measured tread behind a wall of shields and pikes.

He glimpsed the bull moose of the Hornwoods, the Karstark sunburst, Lord Cerwyns battle-axe, and the mailed fist of the Glovers... and the twin towers of Frey, blue on grey. So much for his father's certainty that Lord Walder would not bestir himself. The white of House Stark was seen everywhere, the grey direwolves seeming to run and leap as the banners swirled and streamed from the high staffs.

"_Where are Robb Stark and his brother? Tyrion wondered. "Where are Theon Greyjoy and Greatjon Umber?"_

As the horns died away, a hissing filled the air; a vast flight of arrows arched up from his right, where the archers stood flanking the road. The northerners broke into a run, shouting as they came, but the Lannister arrows fell on them like hail, hundreds of arrows, thousands, and shouts turned to screams as men stumbled and went down. By then a second flight was in the air, and the archers were fitting a third arrow to their bowstrings.

Ser Gregor waved his huge sword and bellowed a command, and a thousand other voices screamed back at him. Tyrion put his spurs to his horse and added one more voice to the cacophony, and the van surged forward. "The river!" he shouted at his clansmen as they rode. "Remember, hew to the river." He was still leading when they broke a canter, until Chella gave a bloodcurdling shriek and galloped past him, and Shagga howled and followed. The clansmen charged after them, leaving Tyrion in their dust.

The following battle had been bloody. Although Tyrion had sustained many injuries, he was fine and had killed five men of House Karstark and House Mormont himself with no help of Bronn or the mountain men. The northmen's line had crumbled under the first assault. The northerners had being pushed against the hills and pelted by arrows. Tyrion saw his father ride by with the reserves to break the northerners.

Most of his clansmen had been killed, half remained. Conn and Ulf had died.

* * *

Lord Tywin was seated by the river, sipping wine from a jewelled cup as his squire undid the fastenings on his breastplate.

"A fine victory," Ser Kevan said when he saw Tyrion. "Your wild men fought well."

"Did that surprise you, Father?" he asked. "Did it upset your plans? We were supposed to be butchered, were we not?"

Lord Tywin drained his cup, his face expressionless. "I put the least disciplined men on the left, yes. I anticipated that they would break. Robb Stark is a green boy, more like to be brave than wise. I'd hoped that if he saw our left collapse, he might plunge into the gap, eager for swiftness. Once he was fully committed, Ser Kevan's pikes would wheel and take him in the flank, driving him into the river while I brought up the reserve."

"The Stark boy proved more cautious than I expected for one of his years," Lord Tywin admitted, "but a victory is a victory though more of our men were killed than I would have liked. You appear to be wounded."

Tyrion's right arm was soaked with blood. "Good of you to notice, Father," he said through clenched teeth.

"Might I trouble you to send for your maesters? Unless you relish the notion of having a one-armed dwarf for a son..."

An urgent shout turned his father's head before he could reply.

Tywin Lannister rose to his feet as Ser Addam Marbrand leapt down off his courser. The horse was lathered and bleeding from the mouth. Ser Addam dropped to one knee.

"My liege, we have taken some of their commanders. Lord Cerwyn, Harrion Karstark, Ser Wylis Manderly and four Freys. Lord Hornwood is dead, and I fear Roose Bolton has escaped us."

"And the boy?" Lord Tywin asked.

Ser Addam hesitated. "The Stark boy was not with them, my lord. They say he crossed at the Twins with the great part of his host, riding fast for Riverrun."

Tyrion did not laugh. It hurt too much.

**Jon **

The woods were full of whispers.

Moonlight winked on the tumbling waters of the stream below as it wound its rocky way along the floor of the valley. Beneath the trees, warhorses whickered softly and pawed at the moist, leafy ground, while men made nervous jests in hushed voices.

His step-mother's skills of negotiation had gotten them a way across the bridge, though Jon would have hoped for a sweeter deal. He could tell Robb did not enjoy the prospect of marrying after the war. The Frey's were known to look…plain.

They had split their host into two, Roose Bolton taking command while Robb and the others rode hard to Riverrun. Bolton's army would give their host more time to engage the Kingslayer unawares and in probability to regain Riverrun was looking hopeful.

They came to the edge of the Whispering Wood at nightfall all tired though not spent. Jon rode next to Torrhen and Eddard Karstark, all three of them draped in grey chainmail. Jon's longsword was at his hand. Harrion had left with Roose Bolton.

"The Kingslayer is restless," Ser Brynden had told Robb and him. "He will not wait and is quick to anger."

Jon watched Robb move among the men, touching one on the shoulder, sharing a jest with another, helping a third to gentle an anxious horse. His armour clinked softly when he moved. Only his head was bare.

He himself was nervous. This would be his first battle where he would be driven by the desire to defeat an enemy through blood and steel, not wooden swords. Jon swallowed back every emotion in his mind and kept himself cold and blank. If he overreacted or felt guilty during a battle, he would die.

Jon had been with the soldiers who would be risking it all this coming battle. He had shared their wine and broken stories of past and new, hoping to know his band of brothers. He trusted them.

Ghost prowled around Jon's heels but did not make a sound. Jon heard a sigh escape Torrhen and he turned to look at his friend. "Honestly Jon, I am scared and I feel like a wench is pulling me back by my gut. I am not weak but I do not want to die."

Jon put a hand on Torrhen's shoulder. "I won't let anything happen to Eddard and yourself. Stay behind me and defend the way while I move to the Kingslayer with the others. That's our job. Anyway, Ghost will be with us to watch for enemies naked to our eyes." He smiled tiredly.

Torrhen nodded and Eddard said. "We won't let anyone down."

Jon looked over and saw his aunt watching him. She smiled when she caught his look and mouthed words of encouragement. Jon smiled in return. Lady Cateyln was watching her son intently beside her mounted safely near the outskirts of the forest. Thirty men surrounded them in case the battle went the other way, to get them back to Winterfell for Bran was heir.

_So much like Lord Eddard Stark, Jon thought. _He was not jealous.

A breeze went through his thick hair and he shook away the curls that fell to his eyes. He needed to cut his hair after the battle, if he survived the Kingslayer. Robb had given him the task with ten of their highly skilled swordsman to make for Jaime Lannister himself.

"We need the best Jon," Robb told hm. "I would come with you, but I will be leading the charge with Lord Rickard and Greatjon. Capture the bastard."

Ghost continued to go around the legs of the horse, making the creature uncomfortable. Sometimes at night, Jon found himself dreaming he was the direwolf, prowling through the godswood in Winterfell and beyond searching for _something. _He did felt whole when he was in Ghost's skin.

The night was warm, but Jon missed the cold of Winterfell and the foreboding presence of the North. _Where were the Lannister men?_ Jon wondered. Could Blackfish have been wrong? Jon doubted it. Robb had given the Blackfish three hundred picked men, and sent them ahead to screen his march. "Jaime does not know," Ser Brynden said when he rode back. "I'll stake my life on that. No bird has reached him, my archers have seen to that. We've seen a few of his outriders, but those that saw us did not live to tell of it. He ought to have sent out more. He does not know."

"How large is his host?" Robb asked.

"Twelve thousand foot, scattered around the castle in three separate camps, with the rivers between," Blackfish said, with a craggy smile. "There is no other way to besiege Riverrun, yet still, that will be their undoing. Two or three thousand horse,"

"The Kingslayer has us three to one," said Galbart Glover.

"True enough," Ser Brynden said, "yet there is one thing Ser Jaime lacks."

"Yes?" Robb asked.

"Patience,"

Their host was greater than it had been when they left the Twins. Lord Jason Mallister had brought his power out from Seagard to join them as they swept around the headwaters of the Blue Fork and galloped south, and others had crept forth as well, hedge knights and small lords and masterless men-at-arms who had fled north when Ser Edmure's army was shattered beneath the walls of Riverrun. They had driven their horses as hard as they dared to reach this place before Jaime Lannister had word of their coming, and now the hour was at hand.

He mounted up on his horse and swung off his shield from his back to strap it in place. Eddard Karstark helped him with his helm, and he lowered it, feeling the darkness overtake most of his vision. He could still see clearly though.

Jon moved his horse closer to Robb with Olyvar Frey his squire, Cateyln and Lyanna, Ghost following him.

"I must ride down the line. Mother," Robb said to Cateyln. "Father says you should let the men see you before a battle."

"Go, then," she said. "Let them see you."

"It will give them courage," Robb said.

_I wonder what gives her the courage. She's incredibly strong willed for a woman seeing her son off to battle. _

Jon would have said the same for his aunt, but she did not have children – only treasured nephews. Robb turned away on his grey stallion. Jon gave both of his treasured mothers in their own rights a deep, respectful nod.

Lyanna grabbed him by the shoulder as he moved to follow his brother. "Be careful, Jon. Don't die."

Jon grinned. "I'll be fine. I know that sounds like I am too confident, but I have a strong faith in my abilities."

He turned away and found Robb guarded by his guardsmen. The lord's bannermen had agreed with Cateyln when she asked for him to be protected.

Many of their sons had clamoured for the honor of riding with the Young Wolf, as they had taken to calling him. Patrek Mallister, Smalljon Umber, Daryn Hornwood, Theon Greyjoy, no less than five of Walder Frey's vast brood, along with older men like Ser Wendel Manderly and Robin Flint. One of his companions was even a woman: Dacey Mormont.

Jon's men consisted of Torrhen Karstark, Eddard Karstark, Donnel Locke, Owen Norrey, Deryk Frey, Edwyn Rivers & Ferris Rivers and two other men his name's escaped him. With him their group made ten.

A bird called faintly in the distance, a high sharp trill.

_They are coming,_ Jon thought.

The woods grew still around them as Jon nodded to the men he would be fighting with to take down the Kingslayer. In the quiet he could hear them, far off yet moving closer; the tread of many horses, the rattle of swords and spears and armour, the murmur of human voices, with here a laugh, and there a curse.

The sounds grew louder. She heard more laughter, a shouted command, splashing as they crossed and recrossed the little stream. A horse snorted. A man swore. And then at last he saw him... only for an instant, between the branches. He knew it was him. Even at a distance, Ser Jaime Lannister was unmistakable. The moonlight had silvered his armour and the gold of his hair, and turned his crimson cloak to black. He was not wearing a helm.

He was there and he was gone again, his silvery armour obscured by the trees once more. Others came behind him, long columns of them, knights and sworn swords and freeriders, three quarters of the Lannister horse.

"He is no man for sitting in a tent while his carpenters build siege towers," Ser Brynden had promised. "He has ridden out with his knights thrice already, to chase down raiders or storm a stubborn holdfast."

Nodding, Robb had studied the map her uncle had drawn him. Their lord father had taught them to read maps. "Raid him here," he said, pointing. "A few hundred men, no more: Tully banners. When he comes after you, we will be waiting"-his finger moved an inch to the left-"here."

Jon saw Robb look at Cateyln and Lyanna once more, and then lifted his sword in salute.

Here was the call of Maege Mormont's war horn, a long low blast that rolled down the valley from the east, to tell them that the last of Jaime's riders had entered the trap.

And Grey Wind threw back his head and howled, a sound so terrifying Jon felt almost pitiful for the Lannisters.

HAAro-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o the answer from the far ridge as the Greatjon winded his own horn. To east and west, the trumpets of the Mallisters and Freys blew vengeance. North, where the valley narrowed and bent like a cocked elbow, Lord Karstark's warhorns added their own deep, mournful voices to the dark chorus. Men were shouting and horses rearing in the stream below.

The whispering wood let out its breath all at once, as the bowmen Robb had hidden in the branches of the trees let fly their arrows and the night erupted with the screams of men and horses. All around Jon, the riders raised their lances, and the dirt and leaves that had buried the cruet bright points fell away to reveal the gleam of sharpened steel. "Winterfell!" she heard Robb shout as the arrows sighed again.

"Winterfell!" Jon shouted and charged behind his brother downhill, his own men with him to take the Kingslayer.

Adrenaline passed through his veins as a Lannister soldier was knocked to the ground by his horse. Jon spun the horse around and he stabbed the man right through the throat. He took reins back of his horse and charged to the Kingslayer. Three men tried to stop him but Jon based one's head with the front of his shield and slashed another's throat open.

The third, a big brute, struck against the flesh of the horse, the animal giving a sharp cry. Jon kept is steady and kicked the big man's steeled head, and then struck his sword down on the man's shoulder. He pushed down on the blade and it went through.

Jon lifted his shield to avoid enemy fire and saw his companions fighting over swarming Lannisters. Torrhen and Eddard were doing well, and the others kept pushing forward to him. Ghost lunged and bit a man's bowels, tearing them off along with his breeches.

Jon's horse was not as bad as he had initially thought. Jon went through the Lannister men around him like cutting through water, ducking and weaving his way through the men and bringing them down.

_This is amazing. Jon thought. Why did the gods make killing a man so good?_

"Make for the Kingslayer!" He shouted back as he stabbed a man in the stomach, and kicked him away. The other cried in agreement and they forwarded together. Jon rode on slashing and hacking at any man who wore Lannister red. His sword was soaked in blood when he stopped to take a long breath.

Grey Wind tore a man's shoulder off his arm and the man fell to the floor screaming in absolution. Robb struck a man down and swiped him with his sword, then twisted his hips to angle himself to deflect an enemy blow. He managed to stab a man through the heart and twist. His men were good at protecting him.

"Tully!" "Stark!" "Lannister!"

"Riverrun!" "Winterfell!" "Casterly Rock!"

Ghost continued to kill like there was no tomorrow.

A larger man than before ran to him madly with an axe. Jon stepped to the side and flicked his shield at his breastplate hardly, though the man nixed his chainmail. The man stumbled and Jon grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and slashed across the throat, dropping him letting him die before he hit the ground.

Jon deflected another man's sword of his shield, and this man was powerfully built and it took much of his strength to hold him off. Jon disarmed the man with the twist of his sword near the palm of his sword hand and struck at his exposed left side. The man began a tired assault, one flurry striking him near his shoulder. Jon growled and pierced the man's throat. The wound he had sustained began to bleed, but Jon would live.

Jon looked up and charged towards the approaching Kingslayer. With Torrhen and Eddard closely behind him though both injured, he looked back and quickly said. "Remember what I said. Protect all my sides and don't directly engaged-"

Too late. The Kingslayer was advancing closer and closer to his brother all the while cutting down Robb's protectors. Jon turned his horse to see where Robb was, and found to his relief that his brother was still engaged in a battle with another Lannister soldier and that Dacey Mormont and Robin Flint were still near him. He looked back to where the Kingslayer was and watched horrified as he brought down first Patrek Mallister with a jab to the throat and then Daryn Hornwood with a thrust through the stomach.

"I can take him!" Eddard yelled. He charged at the Kingslayer.

"NO!" Jon screamed.

Ser Jaime twirled around and as Eddard neared, twisted his body to the side, grabbed Eddard's neck and twisted a sudden dagger at the side of his friend's neck. Eddard spluttered before falling to the floor. His brother screamed.

He advanced towards Robin Flint and Jon came back. He called to his direwolf. "GHOST!"

The wolf came from nowhere from Flint and pushed him aside, away from the Lannister. Flint looked at the direwolf with gratitude.

Jaime Lannister looked at Jon with a cocky smile. "It's the Bastard of Winterfell."

Jon did not reply vocally, but spurred his horse forward and lunged for the Kingslayer. It caught the man by surprise and they both toppled off the ground. Jaime Lannister got up first and unsheathed his sword to bring it down to Jon's head, but Jon moved his head back and saw the golden sword cut the grass.

Jon hit the Kingslayer in the legs with his shield and scrambled backwards to give himself room to stand. As he did, Jaime came forward and started a series of unpredictable lunges and sword slashes and stab that Jon could barely register. Jon deflected them with his life on the line.

Jon could see the others were trying to help him, but they could not find an opening without getting themselves killed. Eddard Karstark was kicked down by a Lannister soldier and stabbed through the leg. Torrhen immediately killed the man and knelt by his brother. Jon hoped they were fine.

Jon feigned to the left but the Kingslayer saw this and cut at Jon's hand. Jon brought his sword up but the Lannister struck forward, kicking him in the shin. Jon swung with all his power and hit the Golden Lion at his hip, causing his opponent to stumbled back and crouch back in pain.

As Jon came forward, the Kingslayer moved to the other side and jumped to him, bringing his sword down against Jon's already injured shoulder. Jon let out a cry of pain and fell back, dropping his sword to grasp the profusely bleeding large cut.

The Kingslayer smiled nastily and moved closer. "You're good Snow, but not good enough." Lannister raised his sword to finish his kill, but Jon moved back and he saw the glistened sword pass where his head had been.

Jon came to his sense again though when he felt the man's sword pierce his horse's throat and Jon fell off his brown stallion and just about managed to roll away from it before it fell down to the ground dead. Jon was now fighting the Kingslayer on the ground for the man dismounted from his own horse too and he knew if he did not play himself well, he would die.

Kingslayer came forward and leaned to the cut Jon down, but Jon missed the sword and grabbed the man by his saddles, pulling him down from his horse. The Kingslayer's helm thudded against the ground and Jon quickly kicked him in the ribs. He pushed back against his feet and found his swords with his hands.

The Lannister seemed to have endless stamina. He got up, though slower than before and when a Stark soldier went in, he grabbed the man by the mail, took his dagger from his belt and stuck it into the man's eye.

"NO!" Jon yelled, charging forward. He struck again against the hip, this time feeling a crack. The Kingslayer growled and moved forward…

…and was knocked down to the ground by Ghost. The man tried to reach for his sword but Jon stepped forward and brought the pommel of his sword as hard as he could against the man's bare throat. He stopped and Jon unclasped the golden helm.

He breathed out and looked at Ghost fondly. "Good work." The direwolf seemed to smile.

Torrhen Karstark knelt by his brother. "Edd," He cried out and clutched him close.

"I'm sorry," Jon said as Robb rode on a different horse to him. He seemed appraised on what he saw.

The wolf's head on his shield was slashed half to pieces, raw wood showing where deep gouges had been hacked in the oak, but Robb himself seemed unhurt.

"I thought you were dead Jon," Robb almost whispered. "Why in all the hells did you fight him yourself? You had ten men."

"I had an opening and I took it," Jon pointed at the dead bodies. "Too many had died at the Lannisters. And we won!"

"Yes," Robb said, grinning like a fool. "We did, now we take Riverrun."

When he saw Eddard's limp body, his smile froze and turned into anger. He almost unsheathed his sword, but Jon stopped him. "We need him alive," Jon said.

Robb looked like he wanted to cry.

Jon's shoulder was killing him, but he ignored the pain.

* * *

Jon and Robb came together back to Cateyln and Lyanna.

Lyanna looked at Jon with so much concern. "You're hurt."

"I will live, but I need a medic soon." Jon said to Robb. His brother nodded.

A mob of men followed them up the slope, dirty and dented and grinning, with Theon and the Greatjon at their head. Between them they dragged Ser Jaime Lannister. They threw him down in front of her horse. "The Kingslayer," Hal announced, unnecessarily.

Lannister raised his head. "Lady Stark," he said from his knees. Blood ran down one cheek from a gash across his scalp as well as from his hip, but the pale light of dawn had put the glint of gold back in his hair. "I would offer you my sword, but I seem to have mislaid it."

"It is not your sword I want, ser," Cateyln told him. "Give me my father and my brother Edmure. Give me my daughters. Give me my lord husband."

"I have mislaid them as well, I fear."

"A pity," Catelyn said coldly.

"You're rather full of yourself for a dead man." Lyanna said.

"You're beautiful for a dragon whore." Said Jaime.

Everyone wisely ignored this.

"Congratulations Jon," Robb patted him on the back while the other nodded in vast approval. "You got him for us." Jon flushed. Lyanna beamed at him and Cateyln smiled.

"Kill him, Robb," Theon Greyjoy urged. "Take his head off."

"No," his brother answered, peeling off his bloody glove. "He's more use alive than dead. And my lord father never condoned the murder of prisoners after a battle."

"We need him as a hostage," Jon said. "No matter how much we want to kill him."

"A wise man Ned Stark," Jaime Lannister said, "and honourable."

"Take him away and put him in irons," Catelyn said.

"Do as my lady mother says," Robb commanded, "and make certain there's a strong guard around him. Lord Karstark will want his head on a pike."

"That he will," the Greatjon agreed, gesturing. Lannister was led away to be bandaged and chained.

"Why should Lord Karstark want him dead?" Catelyn asked.

Robb looked away into the woods, with the same brooding look that Ned often got. "He killed Eddard."

"Countless others," said Robb. " Patrek Mallister and Daryn Hornwood as well with Deryk Frey."

_Poor Frey. He had tried. _

"No one can fault Lannister on his courage," Glover said. "When he saw that he was lost, he rallied his retainers and fought his way up the valley, hoping to reach Lord Robb and cut him down. And almost did."

"If it had not been for Jon and his stupid bravery, others would have died including me."

"A battle is won, but three quarters of the force still are at Riverrun."

"But such a battle!" said Theon Greyjoy eagerly. "My lady, the realm has not seen such a victory since the Field of Fire. I vow, the Lannisters lost ten men for every one of ours that fell. We've taken close to a hundred knights captive, and a dozen lords bannermen. Lord Westerling, Lord Banefort, Ser Garth Greenfield, Lord Estren, Ser Tytos Brax, Mallor the Dornishmen... and three Lannisters besides Jaime, Lord Tywin's own nephews, two of his sister's sons and one of his dead brother's..."

"And Lord Tywin?" Catelyn interrupted. "Have you perchance taken Lord Tywin, Theon?"

"No," Greyjoy answered, brought up short. Tywin was the man they needed to win this war.

"Until you do, this war is far from done."

Robb raised his head and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "My mother is right. We still have Riverrun. And we need a medic."

Jon was treated as much as he could for now, but he would need to be carefully looked at in Riverrun. The old man had done his best.

* * *

Retaking Riverrun had been an easy task. Jon had cleaved his way through the army of Lannister, through the Lannister encampment on the West Bank near Riverrun, whilst the men set fire to Lannister tents. Jon continued cleaving a bloody path through the Lannister soldiers leaving room for the others to throw their torches onto the tents, and when Robb and his men came forth and began attacking the east bank the gates of Riverrun opened.

Robb was able to catch the Lannister forces besieging Riverrun completely off-guard. In order to besiege Riverrun properly the Lannister force had been divided into three camps separated by the rivers, leaving them vulnerable. The attack began when Blackfish leads the Stark vanguard to overrun the north camp. Lord Andros Brax attempted to aid the beleaguered camp, but the river carries his rafts into range of Riverrun's walls. Soon most of the rafts are flipped, killing Lord Brax and many others. The west camp then came under attack when Robb and Jon lead charge. The Lannisters there formed a shield wall but are taken in the rear by a sortie from Riverrun led by Lord Tytos Blackwood. Blackwood and his men managed to liberate many prisoners, including Ser Edmure Tully. The remaining camp, containing roughly 2,000 spearmen and as many bowmen, were left unmolested and they all in good order back to the Golden Tooth under the command of Ser Forley Prester.

The battle had been won and in that moment as the cheering began that Jon knew they had won.

"Young Wolf, Young Wolf, Young Wolf."

"White Wolf, White Wolf, White Wolf."

**Cateyln **

They called her son the Young Wolf while her nephew was the White Wolf in honour of his direwolf. _The White or Grey Dragon they should be calling him. _She thought.

The celebrations had gone through the night and then some. Riverrun had never seen so much joy in is time. Robb and Jon were both declared heroes – Jon for his tactical skills and taking the Kingslayer captive, while Robb was praised for his leadership and courage. The feast Edmure had commissioned boasted of roast, lamb, pork, wine, ale, cakes and for the men, wenches.

Edmure himself looked different from when she had last seen him though then he was a boy. Now he was a man in his twenties: red-brown hair and a fierce beard. He was of medium height. Her younger brother continued his hot-headedness, but was good-natured. She noticed similarities between Ser Marq Piper and himself. Cateyln promised to talk with him later, especially about the Frey-Tully marriage pact that he was unhappy with.

"A Frey?!" He stammered. "I have to marry a Frey? This is madness. That was my father's only wish for me _not _to do. I have to marry a woman from Old Late Frey's brood?" Edmure had sighed and drunk heavily into the night, taking several wenches with him.

_He will marry a Frey girl. Cateyln thought. Edmure knows his duty. _She knew he would. The man took care of his people.

Her son was with his lords and men, drinking wine and slamming their flagons against the trestle tables having a good time. Robb seemed a little drunk, but she did not mind. He was his own man now. Jon, his shoulder bandaged tightly to avoid infection and his arm in a sling, was in a separate corner with the squires, soldiers, lords and some camp followers, drinking sweet summerwine and enjoying the attention.

Jon seemed haunted by the battle. Watching Eddard Karstark die like that could not have been easy. Rickard and Torrhen were in mourning in the godswood and Jon had wanted to go, but Robb had stopped him, saying it was for the family.

_He's a good boy, and I don't want to reveal this secret that might ruin his life. _It would have to be tonight or early on the morrow. Howland Reed would be coming as well with his men.

They kept Jaime Lannister in a prison for highborn prisoners. He did not deserve it, but it was the decree of Edmure.

Cateyln, Robb and Lyanna had visited him in the nursing hall during the early hours of the celebration, and had found him well and in a good mood. The eighteen year old healer nursing his wound had been obviously infatuated with Jon, a shapely Myrish woman with dark hair and dark eyes who fussed over Jon like a broken doll. Cateyln had not known her name, but she could see Jon was fond of her and the lust in his eyes was unmistakeable. She had watched in faint amusement. But no, he was too much like Ned and would not act on his feelings even if the girl was lowborn.

Lyanna talked with Dacey and Maege Mormont, while numerous riverlords came to Cateyln in greeting and when the music began to play, to dance. She had politely refused all but three: Robb, Jon and Edmure.

The drinking, partying and dancing continued well until the morning, when Cateyln had bid everyone a good night. Robb, Jon and Theon sat at a bench poking fun at each other, as well as drinking ale. They seemed to be having fun.

Her husband was still a captive in the Black Cells under the Red Keep, falsely attained as a traitor. Her sweet husband, the man did not deserve what the Lannister's were doing to him. So honour bound, not glory or pride every shaping who he was. He was a good father to their children, and a good husband to her even through her faults. Cateyln wondered what would have happened if she married Brandon. Lyanna had told her of her brother's _other _pursuits during their betrothal period. Eddard Stark had never been with another woman beside her (She had suspected Ashara Dayne, but it was love not consummated) and never did during their marriage, but Brandon Stark...

She thought next of her daughters taken captive in King's Landing. Sansa – the poor girl was being manipulated by Cersei in her evil, twisted clutches. All Sansa had believed in was the wild maiden fantasies of knights and gentle hearts. _Sweet Summer child. Cateyln thought. The true knights died a long time ago during the reign of Aerys 'The Mad King' Targaryen. _

And Arya, her youngest daughter was always craving for adventure and excitement just like her aunt. _Wolf-Blooded, Ned called the pair._ They had not heard of a word about her daughter. Cateyln could not ignore the chill circulating in her as she sat at the edge of her bed combing her auburn hair. Perhaps Arya was too wild to be contained in public like Sansa? Cateyln knew that Cersei would not kill Arya since that would instantly destroy any chance of peace. Her kingly son on the other hand was as dangerous as a thirteen year old spoilt brat could get. There was bad blood between Joffrey, Robb, Jon and Arya.

* * *

Cateyln had only been asleep for what felt like a minutes when she heard a frantic thudding noise on her door. She sat up groggily and rubbed her eyes, the dreams of her family passing away.

"My lady! My lady!" Her guard spoke loudly while knocking hard against the door frantically. Cateyln got out of her bed and reached for her dressing gown of blue and green.

"Come in." Cateyln called when she finished changing. She did not know what the trouble was. She feared that something may have happened to her family. The door burst open and a tall wiry young man she had seen briefly during the battle to retake Riverrun stepped into the room with a frightened look on his plain face.

"What is it, my good man?" Cateyln asked impatiently.

"Lady Cateyln, someone tried to…try to…"

"Tried to what?" Cateyln asked sharply, worry in her tone.

"A man came into from the night, killed three guards and tried to kill your husband's natural son in the shadows." He said hurriedly.

Cateyln straightened from shock. Why would someone want to kill Jon? Unless Ned or Robb had told anyone else who would leak the secret of his parentage to someone who would perceive him as a threat, trying to slay Jon was pointless.

"Is he hurt?" Cateyln asked as she gathered herself.

The man hesitated briefly before answering. "Yes, but the injury is mild, praise be to the Seven. Lord Robb and Lord Edmure have called for you immediately."

_Is it Lord Edmure now? My father is not dead. _

Cateyln followed the man to Jon's chambers. When they reached the corridor where her nephew's chambers were situated, there was a rather large crowd of men and woman surrounding the door and everything nearby, all speaking in loud, fast voices. They were looking down upon something Cateyln could not see.

"Make way for Lady Cateyln!" The guard shouted. The crowd split into two and allowed her to walk between them. The dead bodies of three guards lay in front of her, their throats slashed. She tried not to look, but the sight of all that blood made her shiver.

As she passed, all of them bowed low and muttered her name in respect. When she reached for the door, she saw the dark haired healer-girl who had been helping Jon with his shoulder-injury on the right of the door. A look of genuine, deep concern situated on her face. It seemed like Jon had connected with the girl for she looked as worried as she was. _Robb and Jon have that way with people._

If Jon had died or was seriously injured, the guard would have told her. Even so, her insides coiled in dread. _Why must it always happen like this? First Bran falls and cripples himself, and then Ned is detained by the Lannister. Now this? _She silently prayed nothing would happen to Robb or Edmure.

When she entered Jon's chambers, she found eerie silence. The walls were splattered blue and green in colour, all imperfect and uneven. Jon sat at his bed with his sling. A wet towel specked will blood covered the right side of his face which he covered. A thin, but long cut that had been cleaned hastily ran across his left cheek through his stubble.

Lyanna sat on the edge of the bed with an arm draped around his shoulder, muttering soft words of comfort. Ghost trailed around the legs of the bed, hunger in his crimson eyes.

Standing next to the bed was Robb, his shaggy auburn hair unkempt and his eyes tired. Edmure in his dinner clothes with Blackfish on either side. On the left was Theon Greyjoy, his expression grim for a change with Torrhen Karstark, whose eyes were red with tears of grief. Greatjon stood next to Theon with a hand at the pommel of his sword.

As Cateyln stepped forward, she almost tripped over the corpse. Blackfish came and steadied her with a protective hand. Cateyln nodded gratefully and looked over the dead man. He was a tall, lean man with cut short blonde hair and dark blue eyes.

Ghost walked forward and nudged the man by the neck with his bloodied mouth. The man's throat had been torn out by the direwolf, and it was rather gruesome. Half of the man's hand had been ripped off as well. In the attacker's hand was a long knife coated in dark red blood.

Cateyln looked up from the dead body. "What happened?"

It was her son who answered. "Someone tried to kill Jon in his sleep. That man came in through the night during the celebrations. He killed the three guards posted in the corridor and then sneaked in through the door. If it weren't for Ghost and his constant alertness, Jon would be dead."

"He seems like a common vagabond, no noble blooded in any way." Blackfish said, prodding the dead man with his leg.

"I didn't even notice he was in the room until the coldness of the knife was at my throat," Jon said after a moment's silence. "Ghost tackled him down, but he backhanded the direwolf and slashed at me again. He got me on the cheek," Jon gestured at his left cheek. "And across my eye,"

Jon slowly took of his towel and Cateyln gasped involuntarily. He paled when he saw her expression. A thin, but deep pale scar ran from his right eyebrow to his chin, crossing his eye as well. Jon smirked sadly. "It look's horrible, doesn't it?"

"How could you be calm about this?" Torrhen asked.

"It could be worse. You could be dead." Edmure said.

"Ghost saved your life," Greatjon said. "It is nothing short of a miracle when the Stark children found the wolves in that forest."

"That's true, I suppose." Jon eyed him thoughtfully, but then winced.

Theon said, "You got lucky Snow."

"Who would do such a thing though?" Lyanna asked. She stood up and straightened her blouse.

Robb sighed. He took out a roll of paper from his sleeve and a bag from his belt. Coins jingled as he came to Cateyln. "We found this on the body when we searched. Fifty golden dragons and a hundred silver stags. You're going to want to read this." He said, looking at Cateyln blankly and thrust his hand forward.

_My son is scared that this incident may have to do with him, _Cateyln realised. She wanted to wrap her hands around him, but she had to restrain herself. She took the letter and unrolled it to read.

_**To Aragian**_

_**I understand that you have trepidations of killing Jon Snow though I am not pleased that you have requested an additional twenty dragons for your fee. I would rather have not taken money from my father without his immediate knowledge. A Lannister pays her debts however and you are the only killer I have as my contact near Riverrun. Fifty dragons for your cooperation and then another fifty after the deed are finished. Make it a quick death. I do not want the boy threatening the claim of my son to the Iron Throne if he should ever discover who he really is.**_

Cateyln slowly handed the letter back to Robb, paling in horror. Cersei Lannister knew Jon's parentage, and had tried to kill him for it. She had no idea how the Queen has discovered.

Robb nodded gravely. "This is all bullshit. I can't believe she would do this."

"Robb, you have to be careful. She might have other _helpers _at her disposal. Put men you can trust to guard Jon. Ghost will not always be there to save him.

"We cannot tell Jon today, Robb," Cateyln said. "Howland Reed will arrive at Riverrun on the morrow. In the morning would be more prudent."

"What are you both talking about? Tell me what? What does the letter say?" Jon asked too many questions. Cateyln looked at him and tried not to wince. The scar did not hinder his features, but still fresh it gave his face a hardness that it did not deserve at this age.

They did not answer, and Cateyln stared down at her feet to hide her face in shame.

"Jon," she heard the comforting voice of Lyanna attempt to soothe her son. "Don't get angry at them. They are withholding this information for your own benefit. Please, before you do anything rash, wait until tomorrow."

"Why do I have to wait until tomorrow and why does Lord Reed have to be with us?" Jon asked. "I have never met him in my life."

"The answers you want are with him and my brother, Jon," Lyanna said. "Be patient."

Cateyln looked up. She sounded calm for the situation. Cateyln would have wrapped her arms around Jon and never let him go, whispering who she was.

"How can I be patient when now I will always be looking over my shoulder to see if someone wants to kill me?"

"Jon, calm down-" Edmure said.

"No, you calm down," Jon said loudly, almost shouting. "What just transpired was all crap! I've never been so scared before in my life." He looked at both Cateyln and her son, his yes thick with hurt. "All of you have been acting very suspicious and withdrawn after Moat Cailin. If this is some mad conspiracy for some sick ultimatum, then-"

"Lords and ladies, I am very confused," Greatjon interrupted, his voice booming. Cateyln silently thanked him for cutting Jon off before she had accidently revealed who he's birth parents were to shut him up. "I have no clue on what is being talked about currently, but all I want to know is who would want to kill Jon and why."

"Good question, Lord Umber." Blackfish said.

"I am just a bastard." Jon said. He did not sound mad.

"Someone who believes Jon is a threat to their power," Robb murmured, staring down at the letter. He looked up at the shocked expressions on every person's face. He glanced at Jon and her son judged him carefully before speaking.

"I cannot do this. It is cruel for Jon to wait this long and not know," Robb sighed. "Torrhen, Greatjon and Theon, could you please leave? Send the crowd surrounding the corridor back to their beds. I will discuss this with all three of you later in private."

"But my lord-" Torrhen began to say, but Greatjon placed a hand by the shoulder. "Let Lord Robb be."

_Lord Robb is it? My husband is not dead. Cateyln thought bitterly. Robb, why can't you wait for Howland?_

"And Greatjon, if you can, take this corpse away. I should feed it to the dogs."

Greatjon nodded and with one hand pulled the dead man up and placed him over his left shoulder. Theon flashed a surprisingly look of concern at both Jon and Robb before taking his leave in silence, albeit slowly. Torrhen tried to put a hand on Jon's shoulder, but her nephew only glared.

Greatjon used his other hand to push Torrhen in front of him. Both exited the room following Theon's silence. When the door closed shut, it left six of them.

Before Robb could begin, Edmure said, "Cat, I don't understand what is happening. If this is a family matter, then shouldn't Uncle Brynden and I be removed as well?"

Robb suddenly turned sharply towards and stepped closer to her uncle and brother. "Uncle Edmure. Ser Brynden. What will be said in this room will be kept between us only and _only _us. I want you to swear it by the old gods and the new that you will not reveal any of these details to any person outside this room or so may the gods help me." He spoke very seriously and with certain ice.

Edmure flinched slightly, but slowly nodded. "I swear by the old gods and the new that I will not reveal anything you say."

Blackfish made the same oath.

Robb breathed in. "That is good to know." Her son shook his head, his auburn hair shaking in front of him.

_He is nervous. Cateyln thought. _

Robb moved to a very confused Jon's side and sat next to him. Lyanna moved to Cateyln's side, redness clear in her eyes. Robb looked at them with expectance.

"Jon," she began. It would have to be her to start this. Jon looked up and adjusted his sling. Cateyln pursed her lips. "What we are about to tell you is a secret that Lyanna, Eddard, Howland Reed, Ashara Dayne and myself have hid for the past sixteen years in fear for your life. I would never blame you if you became angry, but please understand that what we did was for your own benefit. All we wanted was for our family to be safe."

Jon slowly nodded. "What is this secret?" Cateyln's heart tightened painfully.

"To fully understand, we must start from the beginning. Do you know what started the rebellion against the Mad King?" Cateyln asked.

Jon looked startled. He was probably wondering what King Aerys the Second had anything to do with this. He looked at Lyanna sadly. "It was because Robert Baratheon thought Aunt Lyanna was kidnapped by Prince Rhaegar. My grandfather and uncle went in search for her, but were executed on the orders of the Mad King."

Lyanna nodded. "Correct. I was not abducted by Rhaegar. I truly loved him. I fell in love with him at the Tourney at Harrenhal after a series of events that it inappropriate to describe at this current time. I had only met the Crowned Prince once before that and let us say that that meeting was as pleasant as it could get after the circumstances. I barely knew him, but he crowned me the Queen of Love of Beauty when he eventually won, passing over his wife." Lyanna mused sadly.

Jon narrowed his eyes. "I do not see how that has to do with what happened just a half hour ago."

Robb made a ticking sound. "Patience Jon, let her explain."

Lyanna shot Robb a grateful look while Jon scowled. "All smiles died that evening. I confronted Rhaegar over his action, but I knew that despite everything that happened, I had fallen in love with the Silver Prince who was already taken. I was so shocked at how my body and mind reacted to him. I had never felt this way over anyone in my entire life. After Harrenhal, I left with Ned and my father back to Winterfell, but I kept contacting Rhaegar over the ravens. Eventually, I realised that he was in love with me too.

"I was betrothed to Robert Baratheon, and you should all know how I felt about that."

Edmure did not though when he tried to speak, Blackfish shot him a warning look.

"I did not mean to start the rebellion," Lyanna placed her forehead in her palm and grunted. "I was just in love with the dashing, beautiful prince who promised me everything. Rhaegar just…_understood me_ like no one else except for Brandon and Eddard could. He knew I needed to be free with a life full of adventure, and I discovered all about his belief in prophecies."

Cateyln and Robb shot her a questioning look. They had never even heard of this side of the story.

Lyanna smiled sadly. "Rhaegar had this idea that he was the Prince That Was Promised. But when the comet flew across the sky the night Prince Aegon was conceived, Rhaegar was sure it was his son. But he knew something was amiss. His wife could not conceive any more children, and he believed the dragon should have three heads."

As Lyanna told them this, Cateyln watched Jon slowly. He was concentrating all his attention on Lyanna to notice. When Lyanna spoke again, Cateyln knew now they were entering dangerous territory.

"A prophecy issued long ago was what Rhaegar desired to solve: The song of ice and fire, it was called. To this day I truly do not know the extent of what that prophecy entailed, but Rhaegar was almost _obsessed._ I was too in love to realise. I made plans with him to go in the night a few weeks before my brother was meant to marry Cateyln," she shot an apologetic look at her which Cateyln did not respond too. It was harsh to think, but Eddard Stark had been the much better deal.

"He came to the North riding on horses under a black and red cloak, with his trusted friend Ser Arthur Dayne to help us. Ser Arthur was dubious and disapproval of us, but Rhaegar and I did not care. I went willingly with him and escaped into the night. I did not even leave a note.

"Rhaegar and I had travelled for a few weeks evading as much attention as we could. Our destination had been King's Landing, but somehow, someone found out what had happened and told my father and eldest brother. And as you know…" Lyanna trailed off.

Jon wanted her to continue. He looked engrossed into it now.

"I did not know what was happening. Instead, Rhaegar changed out destination to the Tower of Joy located in Dorne. The journey took a month's time and we could hear whispers of a growing rebellion, but I did not truly believe what I heard. When we reached the outskirts of Dorne, Rhaegar did something I truly did not suspected I would be asked," Lyanna took a breath. "He asked for my hand in marriage."

"By the gods," Edmure said. "Could he actually do that?"

"Targaryens have wed polygamous before," Her uncle said. "Aegon the First, Maegor the Cruel. I do not why they stopped."

"It must be due to the Faith," Cateyln said. "Otherwise think of all the wars that could have been avoided if the Targaryen kings could take multiple wives and father sons and daughters of each, satisfying great houses."

"I agree," Lyanna said. "I refused, arguing that he had a wife. Rhaegar countered about the ancient Targaryen history. I eventually did relent. I knew Rhaegar loved me and I was happy about that. But there was another reason. I could see the lust in his eyes and his ideas on prophecies, but he told me he would not attempt to try anything sexual unless it was after our marriage and if I was willing."

"And naturally, in love, you said yes." Jon closed his eyes and shook his head disapprovingly. "You should have put your feelings aside. Countless deaths could have been avoided."

Lyanna glared at her son with coldness. "Marrying Rhaegar was the greatest thing that I ever did in my life for it brought the happiest thing I knew to life. You will understand.

"We found a sept where Rhaegar and Ser Arthur managed to convince the septon and his religious party to pronounce us man and wife. The septon was reluctant and hesitant, but he did not deny the Crowned Prince. At that time, Robert and Ned were gathering banners but I did not know and news spread around Westeros slowly. So as Ser Arthur as our witness, Rhaegar and I were wed under the Faith of the Seven."

Lyanna smiled at the memory. "That evening sky was so beautiful and the tapestry of that sept, the carpet. Sansa would have loved it." The thought of her eldest daughter presented Cateyln a long sense of sadness

Blackfish moved quivered in amusement. "I am glad you found your happiness so beautiful."

Lyanna closed her eyes. "A few guests from very minor houses that Rhaegar trusted attended. Soon, we consummated our marriage and I will not go into the details about that. After a day at a nearby inn, Rhaegar and I eventually reached the Tower of Joy. It was only a few days after that word reached us about the war.

"I was furious and beyond death when I found about my family. I wanted to ride back north, but Rhaegar insisted that I going back now would not help them. He promised that I would get vengeance for their deaths. I felt so guilty."

Lyanna glowered sadly. "You all know what happened during those months, about the rebellion. Rhaegar gathered a maester, a nurse and a few other servants from nearby holds to live after a few months. He also called Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gerold Hightower to the tower to guard me while I was spending my days kept in the tower. I did go riding sometimes when I felt bored, but I did not like the warmth and discomfort of Dorne. Eventually, my condition had begun to grow through the stages of normality. The maester and nurses checked on me constantly under Rhaegar's constant eye."

"Why?" Jon asked.

Lyanna looked at him with soft sadness. "Because I was pregnant with his child,"

Jon's eyes widened. He looked at Robb and then Lyanna again. "You were pregnant at the age of sixteen with another heir to the throne?"

"So? Some women when they bled gave birth to children at thirteen," Cateyln replied. "It does not matter to most men. Women are used in this game of power they play."

"Wait, what happened to your child?" Jon asked. Suddenly, he gaped. Cateyln was shocked that he had figured it out so quickly until he said. "What happened to our cousin? Did it…die during childbirth?" His eyes spun with sadness. "No wonder you seem so sad. I am so sorry aunt Lyanna."

Robb stifled a low laugh and muttered very quietly. "Stupid."

Lyanna smiled. "Half-correct Jon though I am surprised you have no caught on. It must be from being raised by Ned for so long. Jon, when Rhaegar left for King's Landing to meet with his father, he promised he would return to our daughter. He was so convinced that the child would be a girl. When he left, I was in the seventh month of the cycle. It was during the early days of the eight month that Rhaegar had been killed by Robert at the Trident, and I realised in my distress that my son or daughter would never know they're father and that they might consider him a villain.

"Most of the servants fled when they heard about Robert's decisive victory at the Trident. Only Maester Garema, the wet nurse Wylla and the members of the Kingsguard had been left behind. I had thought they would have gone to protect Aerys, Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys, but they were under oath sworn orders. After five weeks, we had heard of Lord Tywin's sack of the capitol and how his men had murdered Rhaegar's children. I still am haunted by what they did.

"Now, the Kingsguard were guarding 'officially' the heir apparent. At the end of the ninth month, I was weak but I pushed on and eventually, my water broke. I laboured for what seemed like days, but eventually I gave birth to my child. It was a boy. A few weeks later, Ned found me with Howland. They took us away after mourning the dead to Starfall, where we made arrangements. I am still surprised that the Dayne's would be so accommodating, but Ashara had always loved Eddard. Lord Dayne always listened to his daughter."

She flashed an apologetic look at Cateyln. Cateyln tried not to feel jealous of the beautiful Dornish noblewoman who had taken Ned's heart a long time before she had been wedded and bedded."

Jon nodded with a grim smile on his face. "I am so sorry Lyanna. But what happened to your son?" His face fell and his purple eyes flamed in anger. "He's not dead is he? If Robert killed him-"

Ghost nudged his leg. Cateyln had actually forgotten that the direwolf was in their presence. She supposed that was the point.

"No, Jon, my son is not dead," Lyanna's smile was tight, but it was there. Cateyln grinned despite the situation. Jon's obliviousness was like a pup. "Far from it. He is very much alive. You would know him if you think hard enough."

Jon scrunched up his eyebrows. "I do not understand."

Her uncle frowned, concentration clear on his face. After a few seconds from looking from Jon to Lyanna's smile, realisation dawned. Cateyln was surprised her uncle understood quicker than Jon. Her nephew was a talented observer and quick thinker.

_He has believed his father was Eddard Stark his entire life._ Cateyln thought. _I shouldn't be too judgemental. _

"That cannot be possible, my lady," Brynden Tully said, almost to himself. He looked at Jon in awe. "The Seven help us all. I thought all the dragons in Westeros were dead."

"There is still on the Wall." Lyanna said quietly.

"Uncle, what are you talking about?" Edmure asked. Cateyln felt sorry for her brother.

Cateyln decided to jump in. She gulped in air and felt her throat contract. "Jon, I have always seen you as my son for all these years no matter what the laws of the god's decree. But you must understand, though I see you as my son, you are actually my nephew."

Jon did not comprehend those words.

"What the hell! How can I be your nephew if I am my father's son? Your husband is Eddard Stark, who is my father as Ashara Dayne is my mother. I am the bastard of Winterfell. Being your nephew is completely absurd and-" Jon suddenly stopped mid-sentence, taking in a sharp intake of breath, his eyes flashing with slow realisation.

He turned his head slowly to look at Lyanna and his eyes widened in horror. "That is not possible. No, no, this…this is wrong, all wrong. This is not true. My father is Ned Stark. Hell, I even look like him except for my eyes-" Jon closed his eyes and growled.

"Jon," Cateyln said, trying to sound soothing. She inhaled deeply before saying, "Jon, Ashara Dayne is not your mother. Ned Stark is not your father though I think he wished he would have been as would I. He is however your treasured uncle and Ned loved you so much to keep your identity a secret. Everything we did was to keep you safe."

Lyanna's eyes blinked with tears. She took a step close to Jon. "Jon, sweet heart, you know this now hope. I am not your aunt and it pained me all these years to have watched you grow into the fine man you are alongside Robb, not able to call you my child. My son, I am your mother."

* * *

Silence greeted Lyanna's words before Jon spoke again, his expression unreadable. "You are my…mother? If you are who you say you are, my father…he is…"

"…Prince Rhaegar Targaryen," Cateyln finished.

Edmure gasped. "How is that possible? How could you have kept this secret for so long?"

"It was not easy," Lyanna answered.

"But I don't understand," Jon said immediately. "If Rhaegar is my…father, then why didn't I inherit the silver-blonde hair colour or inhumane good looks? I don't look anything like him. The Targaryen traits seem so dominate in children. Shouldn't I be mad?"

"Jon, you of all people should know your history," Robb said, smiling slightly. "Think of some Targaryen kings and princes, and the children they conceived. Not all of them looked like Valyrians. King Daeron the Second's eldest son Baelor Breakspear took after his mother and he was heir apparent. Hell, even sixteen years ago. Princess Rhaenys, your half-sister, apparently looked like a Martell. Aegor 'Bittersteel' Rivers, the Great Bastard of Aegon the Fourth, had a situation similar to yours: He had his mother's hair colour and Blackwood looks, but his father's purple eyes. Hell, look at my siblings. Sansa, Bran, Rickon and I have our mother's colouring. Only Arya inherited the Stark look."

_I wish Robb looked like his father. _

"Jon, you _do _look like Rhaegar," Lyanna said. "You have your father's eyes and high cheekbones, as well as his long eyelashes and exceptional good looks."

Jon was silent for a long time. Cateyln feared he was going into shock. She tried to say something – comfort him, soothe him, attempt to break away his fear. It was then he finally broke out of his stupor.

"This is all bullshit!" Jon suddenly cried. Robb recoiled and Edmure and Blackfish took a step back in caution. "I do not want to believe this all to be true, but…your making so much sense and I hate it!"

Jon stood up sharply rounded and on Lyanna. "How could you lie to me for sixteen years? How could you make me believe that I was something I was not? You had no right to keep this from me. My own mother I was raised to believe was my aunt, now that is pathetic. I understand that you were trying to keep me from King Robert's harm, but still…I feel like a fool."

"Jon-" Cateyln began, but then he turned his attention on her.

"No Lady Cateyln. You were in on this lie as well. You were always my moral compass alongside my _father," _Jon almost spat the words bitterly. "And now, I don't think I can trust any of you. I spent my whole life believing I was something I wasn't and in fact according to the laws of men, I was entitled to something greater. Damn all of this, I am a Targaryen."

"You're a Stark as well, Jon," Robb said hotly. "And don't you ever forget that. Don't blame my mother, father or aunt for this. They only did what they had too."

And then all of a sudden, Jon began to laugh though the sound held no emotion. "I am a prince, a king depending on who you ask. That is why King Robert hit me. I reminded him of my real father, some prince that started a war over a goddamn prophecy. And he thought I was going to be a freaking girl!" Jon exclaimed.

Jon tugged at his sling angrily and winced in pain. Lyanna tried to place a hand on her son, but Jon shrugged her off hardly. Lyanna flinched and Catelyn could see she was struggling not to cry.

"Jon, I am so sorry. My son, I love you too much to hurt you." She muttered.

Jon stood still in complete shock, though his hands were shaking and his eyes were red from supressing tears. He looked at Robb, then Cateyln herself, and finally Lyanna. He bowed his head.

"I am sorry as well," Jon said finally. "I did not mean to overreact. I am not going to lie. I am so scared, so confused. So lost and broken. My whole life has been shattered in ten minutes." Jon looked at the ceiling and grinned. "I am not Eddard Stark's and Ashara Dayne's son. I am not a bastard. I should feel happy, but I am not." His voice cracked, sounding so much like a child. The child who had just learned to ride a horse.

Jon looked away and slugged his sling. "I need to clear my head. Really, I need to be alone."

"Of course Jon," Robb said. "You may not be my bastard brother, but I consider you my sibling."

Jon nodded slowly and then did something that surprised Cateyln. He stood in front of a confused Lyanna and wrapped his arms around her into a tight embrace. Lyanna was stunned for a moment, but returned it just as fiercely.

After what seemed like days, Jon let go and Lyanna touched his scar, tracing the line with her finger. Jon looked away and stared at Cateyln. "I am sorry Cateyln for being angry with you. I just…"

"There is nothing to forgive Jon," Cateyln reassured. "Sweetling, I am here for you if you need me."

Jon nodded gratefully and then turned to look at Edmure over his shoulder. "May I have permission to leave, my lord?"

Edmure was only gaped at him until Brynden thumped him in the back. "Of course, Jon. Take the time you need."

Jon smiled weakly. "I will be in the godswood if I am required. I need to settle my thoughts."

And with that, Jon reached for the door and exited the room. Ghost watched Lyanna for a few seconds and then bounded silently after Jon.

He left a room filled with an awkward silence as everyone struggled to comprehend what Lyanna and Cateyln had revealed.

"_Winter is Coming," _Robb said coldly, before turning his body and kicking at a wall in anger.

And for what seemed like a long time, Cateyln agreed with those words. Winter was truly coming for all of them.

**Arya**

"Lady Arya, do not leave this area," The old man hissed. "The City Watch is still looking for you."

Arya Stark shot the hooded man a defiant look. "I need to know what is happening to my father. Is he still a prisoner in the Black Cells? And what happened to Sansa, I suppose. The streets hold the answers."

"My lady-"

"I am not a lady," Arya said, suddenly angry. "I am a Stark of Winterfell."

"And a stubborn and persistent one at that," Ser Barristan Selmy said. She swore she could see a smirk. "Your father told me that you take after your aunt Lyanna when she was your age. Supposed that at ten she was the same as sixteen, Eddard Stark must have gone through hell." The old knight looked at her up and down thoughtfully.

Arya felt uncomfortable with her appearance. She had not washed in the last three days she had been found by the men of the Spider. Father had always been wary of Lord Varys, but Arya had found him strangely fascinated. They had given her new clothes, food, water and a bag of coopers, but not a place to bath. She supposed being dirty and ruffled was more like her than being clean and proper.

* * *

The road that Arya found her-self in had been going well in the beginning. When her father had found her with Needle, she had thought he was going to take away the sword Jon made for her though she would have near revealed him as the gift-giver. Instead, Father had realised that Arya had to be trained properly if she entertained the ideas of swordsmanship.

He had found her a teacher the next day, a Braavosi swordsman who she though was the bravest and greatest man she had even seen beside her lord father. Arya had begun training under Syrio Forel. Under his strict, but creative, tutelage, Arya learned to fight in the Braavosi style with Needle though those lessons had been forgotten in an instant when she had been forced to kill the stableboy. She spent most of her time doing balancing and swordplay exercises as Syrio instructed her during their 'dancing' lessons. During one of these, Arya had discovered a secret passage in the castle.

She had seen the large skull of a dragon from the old times under the vaults of King's Landing, and had found a strange connection between the dead creature and her bastard brother. She had overheard two men – one who looked like a wizard and the other who she suspected as the eunuch now – talking about something cryptic.

They had talked about the wolf-blooded dragon and their plans to exercise caution when controlling the black dragon as a different plan. The eunuch had promised the wizard that he would restore what the realm needed to its proper place. They had also talked about bastards, and the wolf and the lion prying at each other's throats.

When Arya had told her father, he had been amused but had not seemed to believe her. Syrio had suspected correctly that those men who had come to collect her worked for the queen. The last she had seen of him was her brave teacher fighting off those men with a broken sword. She felt immensely guilty that he was dead.

She had also heard other things, scary things, things that made no sense to her. Some said her father had murdered King Robert and been slain in turn by Lord Renly. Others insisted that Renly had killed the king in a drunken quarrel between brothers. Why else should he have fled in the night like a common thief? One story said the king had been killed by a boar while hunting, another that he'd died eating a boar, stuffing himself so full that he'd ruptured at the table. No, the king had died at table, others said, but only because Varys the Spider poisoned him. No, it had been the queen who poisoned him. No, he had died of a pox. No, he had choked on a fish bone.

One thing all the stories agreed on: King Robert was dead. The bells in the seven towers of the Great Sept of Baelor had tolled for a day and a night, the thunder of their grief rolling across the city in a bronze tide. They only rang the bells like that for the death of a king, a tanner's boy told Arya.

All she wanted was to go home, but leaving King's Landing was not as easy as she had hoped. Talk of war was on every lip, and gold cloaks were as thick on the city walls as fleas on... well, her, for one. She had been sleeping in Flea Bottom, on rooftops and in stables, wherever she could find a place to lie down, and it hadn't taken her long to learn that the district was well named.

Every day since her escape from the Red Keep, Arya had visited each of the seven city gates in turn. The Dragon Gate, the Lion Gate, and the Old Gate were closed and barred. The Mud Gate and the Gate of the Gods were open, but only to those who wanted to enter the city; the guards let no one out. Those who were allowed to leave left by the King's Gate or the Iron Gate, but Lannister men-at-arms in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms manned the guard posts there. Spying down from the roof of an inn by the King's Gate, Arya saw those searching wagons and carriages, forcing riders to open their saddlebags, and questioning everyone who tried to pass on foot.

Sometimes she thought about swimming the river, but the Blackwater Rush was wide and deep, and everyone agreed that its currents were wicked and treacherous. She had no coin to pay a ferryman or take passage on a ship.

Her lord father had taught her never to steal, but it was growing harder to remember why. If she did not get out soon, she would have to take her chances with the gold cloaks. She hadn't gone hungry much since she learned to knock down birds with her stick sword, but she feared so much pigeon was making her sick. A couple she'd eaten raw, before she found Flea Bottom.

In the Bottom there were pot-shops along the alleys where huge tubs of stew had been simmering for years, and you could trade half your bird for a heel of yesterday's bread and a "bowl o' brown," and they'd even stick the other half in the fire and crisp it up for you, so long as you plucked the feathers yourself. Arya would have given anything for a cup of milk and a lemon cake, but the brown wasn't so bad. It usually had barley in it, and chunks of carrot and onion and turnip, and sometimes even apple, with a film of grease swimming on top. Mostly she tried not to think about the meat. Once she had gotten a piece of fish.

The silver bracelet she'd hoped to sell had been stolen her first night out of the castle, along with her bundle of good clothes, snatched while she slept in a burnt-out house off Pig Alley. All they left her was the cloak she had been huddled in, the leathers on her back, her wooden practice sword... and Needle. She'd been lying on top of Needle, or else it would have been gone too; it was worth more than all the rest together. Since then Arya had taken to walking around with her cloak draped over her right arm, to conceal the blade at her hip. The wooden sword she carried in her left hand, out where everybody could see it, to scare off robbers, but there were men in the pot-shops who wouldn't have been scared off if she'd had a battle-axe. It was enough to make her lose her taste for pigeon and stale bread. Often as not, she went to bed hungry rather than risk the stares.

It was on a day she had taken a pigeon in hand to trade when two men came from the shadows and knocked her down, before finally kicking her in the temple gentler than Arya had expected, but still having the desired effect. Arya had felt a sack go over her head as she fell into the darkness.

Arya had woken a few hours later fearing she was in the custody of the Lannisters. He had found herself in a room that had been only darkness until the Myrish curtains had been pulled away, revealing a quite exquisite room.

Her suspicions had been debunked when the two men who had 'kidnapped her' revealed themselves after giving her bread and water.

Scurian De Aquarian was a handsome man in his mid-thirties. He was clean-shaven with a lined, ascetic face, and wore his dark hair pulled back in a short ponytail. His eyes were the colour of the Trident, and held certain coolness to them that Arya found comforting. He spoke in an accent that Arya remembered faintly but could point it out. He told her later that he had come from Lys and had trained at the Citadel in Oldtown for a few years, but had not acquired the necessary links to become a maester. He was however really smart and spoke several tongues including High Valyrian and the bastard tongues.

"You are a hard girl to find, my lady Stark." Scurian had said to her.

The other man was a tall, lean man with silver-blonde hair plaited down his side and large purple eyes that were the exact colour of Jon's. His name was Barium and he claimed to descend from the ancient freeholders of Old Valyria. Arya had no idea if he spoke the truth, though she had merely nodded. That had seemed to satisfy him. He was intelligent and collected like Scurian, but had a fiercer, determined glint in his eyes.

"We are sorry that we hurt you," Barium told her. "We thought you would run away like always."

Quick as a cat, Syrio had told her. Being nimble on her toes.

It had only been a few hours later when a man garbed in black entered the room. Arya recognised him as the black brother who had met with her father when he was Hand of the King to King Robert. His name was Yoren, and he was stooped and sinister looking with a twisted shoulder. He was quiet ugly and coarse, his features being hidden behind a thick and matted beard. Arya could see that he was lice-ridden and smelt quite foul in comparison to the rich, exotic smells that came from the room she was in.

"Perfume from the Summer Islands, my lady," Barium had told her when she had inquired. "You do not want to go there at your age. It is not appropriate."

"Is this the girl?" Yoren had asked.

"Yes," Scurian had answered. "You know of the arrangement that Varys has organised?"

_The Spider? Why hasn't he given me to the Lannisters yet?_

"Aye, I do," Yoren said gruffly. "Though honestly, I do not like that I am taking part in this conflict. The Sworn Brothers of the Night's Watch are not allowed to take any part in these problems of the Seven Kingdoms. But Arya Stark is Eddard Stark's daughter, and the Starks had been kind to the Wall. I will take the girl with me to Winterfell or Riverrun depending on where family is."

Arya had heard of the war Robb was fighting in the Riverlands.

"What about the Lord Commander?" Scurian asked. His voice always sounded polite and relaxed, Arya noticed.

"He is safe with me. The other recruits and my brothers believe he be a skilled mercenary who was captured by crowns when failing in one of them hits. Most have seen not the knight in true form."

Arya faintly had an idea on who they were talking about, but could not believe it. Ser Barristan Selmy was a member of _King Joffrey's _Kingsguard. Saying Joffrey's name after everything he had done made her sick inside.

So it was then Arya had been carefully taken to a small courtyard behind a few houses where recruits of the Night's Watch were being held by Yoren. Scurian and Barium had left for another direction, promising to meet her in the future. Fortunately, the recruits did not bother to look at her or otherwise Arya suspected they would have problems with her being a girl. The stableboy who she had stabbed seemed to find it troubling.

Arya had met a few boys who seemed to think her long hair was made her look like a girl. How close they were. She had talked with a boy named Gendry who was at a similar age like Robb. He was tall and much muscled, with deep blue eyes and thick black hair. He looked eerily similar to King Robert.

Arya had met with Ser Barristan Selmy in a lowly shack that Yoren had managed to obtain for the both of them, away from the prying eyes of others. The old knight did not look like had before during the tourney. Ser Barristan was tall and handsome for an old man, with blue eyes that looked very sad. He was a man in his sixties with long white hair and lined features. He still looked strong and graceful for his advanced age.

Robb, Bran, Jon and even her father respected the man, and so Arya had decided to give him a chance. Barristan was polite and well-spoken and seemed somewhat amused by Arya's constant questioning. That infuriated her.

* * *

Ser Barristan sighed and inclined his head towards her. "Fine Arya. We will go through the streets, but only if you stay by my side at all times. I made a promise to keep you safe for my king."

"Who, King Robert?" Arya asked.

At that, Barristan scowled. "Not him. This is the true king of Westeros." Arya did not prod on.

And then they had explored the streets. The scent of hot bread drifting from the shops along the Street of Flour was sweeter than any perfume Arya had ever smelled. Ser Barristan had a bag of silver and coopers on his belt, and bought her as much sweets and breads as she wanted. He pitied her, saying she was too skinny for a lady.

"I want to be a warrior, not a lady," Arya had argued. "Quick and agile like a Braavosi."

"That may be true, Arya and I believe you do have the will to be a swordsman," Ser Barristan said. "But using that slim sword of yours will not be helpful in a fight. Who gifted that sword to you anyway? It is a fine piece of art." He had examined Needle as Arya watched cautiously.

"My brother, Jon." Arya answered.

Something passed between the knight's eyes that Arya did not know if it was either admiration or curiosity. "I see."

A man was pushing a load of tarts by on a two-wheeled cart; the smells sang of blueberries and lemons and apricots. Her stomach made a hollow rumbly noise. "Could I have one?" she heard herself say. "A lemon, or... or any kind."

The pushcart man looked her up and down. Plainly he did not like what he saw. "Three coppers."

Barristan handed the coins to the man first.

The tarts were still warm from the oven. The smells were making her mouth water and she gobbled them down wolfishly.

Arya glanced warily behind her. Two of the City Watch was standing at the mouth of an alley. Their cloaks hung almost to the ground, the heavy wool dyed a rich gold; their mail and boots and gloves were black. One wore a longsword at his hip, the other an iron cudgel. With a last wistful glance at the tarts, Arya and Barristan slowly edged back and hurried off, trying not to raise suspicion. The gold cloaks had not been paying them any special attention, but the sight of them tied her stomach in knots.

Arya had been staying as far from the castle as she could get, yet even from a distance she could see the heads rotting atop the high red walls. Flocks of crows squabbled noisily over each head, thick as flies. The talk in Flea Bottom was that the gold cloaks had thrown in with the Lannisters, their commander raised to a lord, with lands on the Trident and a seat on the king's council.

"Janos Slynt," Ser Barristan said disgustingly. "That man is nothing but a butcher's son. How he would become a lord is beyond me. He is a traitor."

Down below the Street of Flour was a maze of twisting alleys and cross streets. Arya and Barristan scrambled through the crowds. Arya was trying to put some distance between her and the gold cloaks. She had learned to keep to the centre of the street. Sometimes she had to dodge wagons and horses, but at least you could see them coming. If you walked near the buildings, people grabbed you. Barristan was always at her side however, and a longsword was hidden behind his cloak. In some alleys you couldn't help but brush against the walls; the buildings leaned in so close they almost met.

A whooping gang of small children went running past, chasing a rolling hoop. Arya stared at them with resentment, remembering the times she'd played at hoops with Bran, Jon, Robb and their baby brother Rickon. She wondered how big Rickon had grown, and whether Bran was sad and how crippled he was. How Robb would always guide her in difficult situations. She would have given anything if Jon had been here to call her "little sister" and muss her hair. Not that it needed mussing. She'd seen her reflection in puddles, and she didn't think hair got any more mussed than hers.

The Bottom had a stench to it, a stink of pigsties and stables and tanner's sheds, mixed in with the sour smell of wine sinks and cheap whorehouses. The two of them made their way through the maze dully. It was not until she caught a whiff of bubbling brown coming through a pot-shop door. For a moment she wanted to cry again at her situation.

The old knight must have seen her eyes brim in tears, for he put a protective arm around her shoulder. "Hey, hey. Do not have fear, my lady. I know so many bad things have happened to your family, but everything will be alright. I promise nothing bad will happen to you."

_Promises. Promises. Promises. Could someone keep a promise even if it meant risking your own selfish life?_

Far across the city, bells began to ring.

Arya glanced up, listening, wondering what the ringing meant this time.

"I think something is happening." She said to the knight.

"What's this now?" a fat man called from the pot-shop.

"The bells again, gods ha'mercy," wailed an old woman.

A red-haired whore in a wisp of painted silk pushed open a second story window. "Is it the boy king that's died now?" she shouted down, leaning out over the street. "Ah, that's a boy for you, they never last long." As she laughed, a naked man slid his arms around her from behind, biting her neck and rubbing the heavy white breasts that hung loose beneath her shift. Barristan Selmy looked down, embarrassed.

"Stupid slut," the fat man shouted up. "The king's not dead, that's only summoning bells. One tower tolling. When the king dies, they ring every bell in the city."

"Here, quit your biting, or I'll ring your bells," the woman in the window. said to the man behind her, pushing him off with an elbow. "So who is it died, if not the king?"

"It's a summoning," the fat man repeated.

Two boys close to Arya's age scampered past, splashing through a puddle. The old woman cursed them, but they kept right on going. Other people were moving too, heading up the hill to see what the noise was about. Arya ran after the slower boy. "Where you going?" she shouted when she was right behind him. "What's happening?"

He glanced back without slowing. "The gold cloaks are carryin' him to the sept."

"Who?" she yelled, running hard.

"The Hand! They'll be taking his head off, Buu says."

_Father. _

A passing wagon had left a deep rut in the street. The boy leapt over, but Arya never saw it. She tripped and fell, face first, scraping her knee open on a stone and smashing her fingers when her hands hit the hard-packed earth. Needle tangled between her legs. She sobbed as she struggled to her knees. The thumb of her left hand was covered with blood. When she sucked on it, she saw that half the thumbnail was gone, ripped off in her fall. Her hands throbbed, and her knee was all bloody too.

An arm pulled her up and Barristan looked at her sternly. "What did I say about-?"

"We have to hurry," Arya almost yelled. "They're going to kill my father!"

The knight frowned. "Why?"

Everyone was moving in the same direction, all in a hurry to see what the ringing was all about. The bells seemed louder now, clanging, calling. Arya was held by the hand by Barristan as they joined the stream of people. Her thumb hurt so badly where the nail had broken that it was all she could do not to cry. She bit her lip as she limped along, listening to the excited voices around her.

"-the King's Hand, Lord Stark. They're carrying him up to Baelor's Sept."

"I heard he was dead."

"Soon enough, soon enough. Here, I got me a silver stag says they lop his head off."

"Past time, the traitor." The man spat.

Arya struggled to find a voice. "He never-" she started, but she was only a child and they talked right over her.

"Fool! They aren't neither going to lop him. Since when do they knick traitors on the steps of the Great Sept?"

"Well, they don't mean to anoint him no knight. I heard it was Stark killed old King Robert. Slit his throat in the woods, and when they found him, he stood there cool as you please and said it was some old boar did for His Grace."

"Ah, that's not true; it was his own brother did him, that Renly, him with his gold antlers."

"You shut your lying mouth, woman. You don't know what you're saying; his lordship's a fine true man."

By the time they reached the Street of the Sisters, they were packed in shoulder to shoulder. Arya let the human current carry her along, up to the top of Visenya's Hill. The white marble plaza was a solid mass of people, all yammering excitedly at each other and straining to get closer to the Great Sept of Baelor. The bells were very loud here.

"What is going on?" The old man said to another.

"Eddard Stark, the traitor of the grey waste, is going to die!" A fat man said very enthusiastic. Arya almost did punch the man in his gut, but Barristan held a hand in her direction.

Arya squirmed through the press, ducking between the legs of horses and clutching tight to her sword stick.

"Arya!" Barristan yelled after her. She did not look back and the noise of the crows drowned him out.

From the middle of the crowd, all she could see were arms and legs and stomachs, and the seven slender towers of the sept looming overhead. She spotted a wood wagon and thought to climb up on the back where she might be able to see, but others had the same idea. The teamster cursed at them and drove them off with a crack of his whip.

Arya grew frantic. Forcing her way to the front of the crowd, she was shoved up against the stone of a plinth. She looked up at Baelor the Blessed, the septon king. Sliding her stick sword through her belt, Arya began to climb. Her broken thumbnail left smears of blood on the painted marble, but she made it up, and wedged her own in between the king's feet.

That was when she saw her father.

Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North stood on the High Septon's pulpit outside the doors of the sept, supported between two of the gold cloaks. He was dressed in a rich grey velvet doublet with a white wolf sewn on the front in beads, and a grey wool cloak trimmed with fur, but he was thinner than Arya had ever seen him, his long face drawn with pain. He was not standing so much as being held up; the cast over his broken leg was grey and rotten.

The High Septon himself stood behind him, a squat man, grey with age and ponderously fat, wearing long white robes and an immense crown of spun gold and crystal that wreathed his head with rainbows whenever he moved.

Clustered around the doors of the sept, in front of the raised marble pulpit, were a knot of knights and high lords. Joffrey was prominent among them, his raiment all crimson, silk and satin patterned with prancing stags and roaring lions, a gold crown on his head. His queen mother stood beside him in a black mourning gown slashed with crimson, a veil of black diamonds in her hair. Arya recognized the Hound, wearing a snowy white cloak over his dark grey armour, with four of the Kingsguard around him. She saw Varys the eunuch gliding among the lords in soft slippers and a patterned damask robe, and she thought the short man with the silvery cape and pointed beard might be the one who had once fought a duel for Mother.

She wondered where Scurian and Barium where. Would Varys try to save her father?

And there in their midst was Sansa, dressed in sky-blue silk, with her long auburn hair washed and curled and silver bracelets on her wrists. Arya scowled, wondering what her sister was doing here, why she looked so happy.

A long line of gold-cloaked spearmen held back the crowd, commanded by a stout man in elaborate armour, all black lacquer and gold filigree. His cloak had the metallic shimmer of true cloth-of-gold.

When the bell ceased to When the bell ceased to toll, a quiet slowly settled across the great plaza, and her father lifted his head and began to speak, his voice so thin and weak she could scarcely make him out. People behind her began to shout out, "What?" and "Louder!" The man in the black-and-gold armour stepped up behind Father and prodded him sharply.

You leave him alone! Arya wanted to shout, but she knew no one would listen. She chewed her lip.

Her father raised his voice and began again. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King," he said more loudly, his voice carrying across the plaza, "and I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men."

"No," Arya whimpered. Below her, the crowd began to scream and shout. Taunts and obscenities filled the air. Sansa had hidden her face in her hands.

Before Eddard continued, he looked to King Joffrey. "My king, as I make my confession, do you promise none of your lords and knights and headsman will do me harm. I wish to make a long speech uninterrupted for my crimes."

Joffrey waved a hand. "Yes, yes."

The High Septon made a holy prayer, promising Ned Stark that much.

The queen narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

Her father raised his voice still higher, straining to be heard. "I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert," he shouted. Arya saw her father take a deep breath. More boos and insults from the crowd. Someone threw an apple at her father.

"By not telling him the truth before he was killed by the boar. I hid from him secrets that I perhaps should have shared before he died. I would never steal the Iron Throne away from any of Robert's legitimate trueborn children. To the people of Westeros, I tell you, I name that Joffrey Baratheon is no true Baratheon, but a bastard born of incest between Queen Cersei Lannister and Ser Jaime Lannister, her brother. Only look at Joffrey now and see that nothing of Robert is present in his appearance nor Cersei's other children. Only look through history and see every time a Lannister mates with a Baratheon, the black hair-blue eyes wins over the gold-green form."

The crowd grew dangerously quiet. King Joffrey burst with outrage and motioned for Ilyn Payne, but the crowd instead started cooing and moaning at Joffrey. Joffrey glared at them outraged. The Queen Regent placed a hand on her son's shoulder.

"Joffrey Baratheon has no claim to the Iron Throne, as does neither his sister nor brother. Lord Stannis and Lord Renly are truly the next in line for the throne, but I name them usurpers and ill-fit to be crowned kings on the Iron Throne. The true heir of the Iron Throne lies in the North, the boy I claimed as my bastard son to protect him. The boy known to the world as Jon Snow is actually the legitimate son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and my sister, Lyanna Stark. The boy born of ice and fire and the true king of Westeros."

The crowd began shouting, but instead of insults it was confusion and some belief.

Arya eyes widened in shock. Jon was Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar's son? That would make him her cousin…

"Jon Targaryen, the First of his Name and the rightful King of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar, is the legitimate lord of the Seven Kingdoms. I say this not to further my power, but to preserve the kingdom from the clutches of the cunning Lannisters and Baratheons, who have proven through my good friend not capable of ruling. You all know me as a strong, honourable and dutiful man. If Joffrey had been Robert's son, I would have gladly supported his reign. If you go and seek out my nephew, you will see how much he looks like Rhaegar. I name Joffrey Baratheon a traitor and a usurper of the rightful heir."

Her father finished, and bent down on his knees and started muttering to himself. Sansa looked like she was about to dead. The crowd was in such a silence that it was only broken by the various cries of hope.

"Long Live Eddard Stark, the true Hand."

"_Prince Rhaegar Targaryen!" _

"_King Jon! King Jon! King Jon!"_

"_Death to the abomination!"_

Most of the crowd were slowly siding with her father, though people were still in disbelief.

"SILENCE!" Joffrey screamed. The crowd instantly stopped their chanting, though Arya could see of motion of their faces that they believed. She believed as well. This was what Ser Barristan had been talking about. Her brother Jon was a king.

"It seems Lord Stark has lost his sense," Joffrey said, his mother's hand on his shoulder urging for him to stop. A thousand voices were screaming again, but Arya never heard them. Prince Joffrey... no, King Joffrey... stepped out from behind the shields of his Kingsguard. "My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black, and Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father. He has proven himself a traitor. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head."

The crowd roared in disapproval and it was only the threat of the City Guard that stopped them from rioting.

Arya felt the statue of Baelor rock as they surged against it. The High Septon clutched at the king's cape, and Varys came rushing over waving his arms, and even the queen was saying something to him, but Joffrey shook his head. Lords and knights moved aside as he stepped through, tall and fleshless, a skeleton in iron mail, the King's Justice. Dimly, as if from far off, Arya heard her sister screams. Sansa had fallen to her knees, sobbing hysterically. Ser Ilyn Payne climbed the steps of the pulpit.

Arya wriggled between Baelor's feet and threw herself into the crowd, drawing Needle. She landed on a man in a butcher's apron, knocking him to the ground. Immediately someone slammed into her back and she almost went down herself. Bodies closed in around her, stumbling and pushing, trampling on the poor butcher. Arya slashed at them with Needle.

High atop the pulpit, Ser Ilyn Payne gestured and the knight in black-and-gold gave a command. The gold cloaks flung Lord Eddard to the marble, with his head and chest out over the edge.

"Girl, get back!" an angry voice shouted at Arya, but she bowled past, shoving people aside, squirming between them, slamming into anyone in her way. A hand fumbled at her leg and she hacked at it, kicked at shins. A woman stumbled and Arya ran up her back, cutting to both sides, but it was no good, no good, there were too many people, no sooner did she make a hole than it closed again. Someone buffeted her aside. She could still hear Sansa screaming. The crowd were screaming for Joffrey to reconsider.

The abomination began to laugh.

Ser Ilyn drew a two-handed greatsword from the scabbard on his back. As he lifted the blade above his head, sunlight seemed to ripple and dance down the dark metal, glinting off an edge sharper than any razor. Ice, she thought, he has Ice! Her tears streamed down her face, blinding her.

And then she felt close around her like someone being trapped, so hard that Needle fell out of her hand. Arya was wrenched off her feet. She would have fallen if he hadn't held her up, as easy as if she were a doll. She saw the face of Barristan Selmy look in her grey eyes.

"Arya, do not look. This is too horrible for you to watch."

"Let me go!" Arya screeched.

Barristan hit her on the back of the head. "I am sorry, but shut up! Don't you dare look?!"

"I…I…I…" Arya began to sob.

Barristan's gritted his teeth in anger not directed at her, but at what was happening.

Dimly, as if from far away, she heard a... a noise... a soft sighing sound, as if a million people had let out their breath at once. She realised now her father was dead, but his proclamation still rang in the hearts of many.

"We have to go! Now, back to Yoren!" Barristan said calmly, though Arya could tell he was trying not to crack in front of her. The people still screamed and gathered fiercely around the dais, creating an opening to leave.

Barristan took it. Arya sobbed against his strong chest, urging herself to release the pain. She could not cry now, her father would not want it. She was a Stark, a wolf of Winterfell.

Arya's life was gone. Numb, she trailed along beside Ser Barristan when he let her go. She did not recall him finding Needle, until he handed the sword back to her.

When they had reached an alleyway, Barristan stopped and leaned against a wall, his head in his palms. "That…was terrible." He looked at Arya and his eyes scrunched in concern. "I am so sorry my lady Stark."

"Are you going to serve Jon?" Arya asked quietly.

The old knight looked at her curiously. "He is the true king. Why may I ask would you ask the question?"

"Nothing, all I want is revenge," Arya said softly. "And Robb and Jon will deliver ten-fold." She turned her back and walked down the alley. She pulled out Needle, ready if a robber tried to come at her. She felt like she could kill anyone.

Barristan hesitated, and followed the young wolf. As they walked back to the recruit site, Arya checked her appearance in the puddle. She realised Yoren had been right, she needed to cut her hair immediately.

And it was with a heavy heart, Arya could feel the salty tears taste her lips, begging herself to let it all go.

_**Sorry I've been away for long. School started and all. I was really happy with Tyrion and Arya PO, but I had to rush Jon and Cateyln because I had a detailed chapter, but my computer was shut off before I could save. Let me know what you thought. Favourite the story and review. It helps me a lot. **_

_**Next chapter will be dealing with repercussions of Ned's death. **_


	9. Chapter 9

_**You guys are bloody amazing. Thanks for all the positive feedback and reviews as well as the critical response. It helps when I'm planning out what I write. Sorry this chapter isn't that good. I've been studying for exams and I joined a basketball team, so we've been practising and playing. **_

**Bran **

Bran watched them from the balcony of Maester Luwin's turret, listening to them grunt and strain and curse as they swung their staves and wooden swords. The yard was alive to the clack of wood on wood, punctuated all too often by thwacks and yowls of pain when a blow struck leather or flesh. Ser Rodrik strode among the boys, face reddening beneath his white whiskers, muttering at them one and all. Bran had never seen the old knight look so fierce. "No," he kept saying. "No. No. No."

"They don't fight very well," Bran said dubiously. He scratched his wolf behind the ears as the direwolf tore at the meat.

"For certain," Maester Luwin agreed with a deep sigh. The maester was peering through his big Myrish lens tube, measuring shadows and noting the position of the comet that hung low in the morning-sky. "Yet given time... Ser Rodrik has the truth of it; we need men to walk the walls. Your lord father took the cream of his guard to King's Landing, and your brother took most, along with all the likely lads for leagues around. Many will not come back to us, and we need to find the men to take their places. Though thankfully, Robb listened to Jon and had all the major holdfasts properly garrisoned and held by a hundred men."

Bran stared resentfully at the sweating boys below. "If I still had my legs, I could beat them all." He remembered the last time he'd held a sword in his hand, when the king had come to Winterfell. It was only a wooden sword, yet he'd knocked Prince Tommen down half a hundred times. Robb, Jon, Arya had all been encouraging him as he defeated Tommen over and over again. How he missed his siblings. "Ser Rodrik should teach me to use a poleaxe. If I had a poleaxe with a big long haft, Hodor could be my legs. We could be a knight together."

"I think that... unlikely," Maester Luwin said. "Bran, when a man fights, his arms and legs and thoughts must be as one."

"There was a knight once who couldn't see," Bran said stubbornly, as Ser Rodrik went on below. "Old Nan told me about him. He had a long staff with blades at both ends and he could spin it in his hands and chop two men at once."

"Symeon Star-Eyes," Luwin said as he marked numbers in a book. "When he lost his eyes, he put star sapphires in the empty sockets, or so the singers claim. Bran the tale was only a story, like the tales of Florian the Fool. A fable from the Age of Heroes," The maester was not pleased. "You must put these dreams aside."

The mention of dreams reminded him. "I dreamed about the crow again last night. The one with three eyes. He flew into my bedchamber and told me to come with him, so I did. We went down to the crypts. Father was there, and we talked. He was sad."

"And why was that?" Luwin peered through his tube

"It was about Jon," The dream had been disturbing the least. All Bran had seen swirling was the violent images of fire and blood. "Father was sad that he had not been able to talk with Jon, sit him down and explain to him. Tell him the truth."

"What truth may that be?" The maester asked.

Bran shrugged.

"In the dream I flew down with the crow, but I can't do that when I'm awake," Bran explained.

"Why would you want to go down to the crypts?"

"I told you. To look for Father,"

The maester tugged at the chain around his neck, as he often did when he was uncomfortable. "Bran, sweet child, one day Lord Eddard will sit below in stone, beside his father and his father's father and all the Starks back to the old Kings in the North... but that will not be for many years, gods be good. Your father is a prisoner of the queen in King's Landing. You will not find him in the crypts."

"He was there last night. I talked to him."

"Stubborn Stark boy," the maester sighed, setting his book aside. "Would you like to go see for yourself?"

"I can't. Hodor won't go, and the steps are too narrow and twisty for Dancer."

"I believe I can solve that difficulty."

In place of Hodor, the wildling woman, Osha, was summoned. She was tall and tough and uncomplaining, willing to go wherever she was commanded. "I lived my life beyond the Wall, a hole in the ground doesn't bother me, m'lords," she said.

"Summer, come," Bran called as she lifted him in wiry-strong arms. The direwolf left his bone and followed as Osha carried Bran across the yard and down the spiral steps to the cold vault under the earth. Maester Luwin went ahead with a torch.

Bran could not recall the last time he had been in the crypts. It had been before, for certain. When he was little, he used to play down here with Robb and Jon and his sisters.

He wished they were here now; the vault might not have seemed so dark and scary. Summer stalked out in the echoing gloom, then stopped, lifted his head, and sniffed the chill dead air. He bared his teeth and went backward, eyes glowing golden in the light of the maesters torch.

"Grim folk, by the look of them," Osha said to herself as she eyed the long row of granite Starks on their stone thrones.

"They were the Kings of Winter," Bran whispered. Somehow it felt wrong to talk too loudly in this place.

Osha smiled. "Winter's got no king. If you'd seen it, you'd know that, summer boy."

"They were the Kings in the North for thousands of years," Maester Luwin said, lifting the torch high so the light shone on the stone faces. Some were hairy and bearded, shaggy men fierce as the wolves that crouched by their feet.

Others were shaved clean, their features gaunt and sharp-edged as the iron longswords across their laps. "Hard men for hard times. Come." He strode briskly down the vault, past the procession of stone pillars and the endless carved figures. A tongue of flame trailed back from the upraised torch as he went.

The vault was cavernous, longer than Winterfell itself, and his brother Jon had told him once that there were other levels underneath, vaults even deeper and darker where the older kings were buried. It would not do to lose the light. Summer refused to move from the steps, even when Osha followed the torch, Bran in her arms.

"Do you recall your history, Bran?" the maester said as they walked. "Tell Osha who they were and what they did, if you can."

"That one is Jon Stark. When the sea raiders landed in the east, he drove them out and built the castle at White Harbor. My bastard brother was named after him and Jon Arryn. His son was Rickard Stark, not my father's father but another Rickard; he took the Neck away from the Marsh King and married his daughter. Theon Stark's the real thin one with the long hair and the skinny beard. They called him the 'Hungry Wolf,' because he was always at war.

"That's a Brandon, the tall one with the dreamy and handsome face, he was Brandon the Shipwright, because he loved the sea. His tomb is empty. He tried to sail west across the Sunset Sea and was never seen again. His son was Brandon the Burner, because he put the torch to all his father's ships in grief. That is why sometimes the north is susceptible to Ironborn.

"There's Rodrik Stark, who won Bear Island in a wrestling match and gave it to the Mormonts. And that's Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt. He was the last King in the North and the first Lord of Winterfell, after he yielded to Aegon the Conqueror."

For some reason, that thought reminded him of his dream. Aegon the Conqueror and Jon – he felt like they were linked somehow.

"Oh, there, he's Cregan Stark. He fought with Prince Aemon once, and the Dragonknight said he'd never faced a finer swordsman."

They were almost at the end now, and Bran felt a sadness creeping over him.

"This is my grandfather, Lord Rickard Stark. Father described him as a good, dutiful man with great honour and justice. He was burnt alive in his armour on the orders of the Mad King when they went to find Prince Rhaegar Targaryen after he ran off with my aunt. Next to him is my uncle Brandon Stark, who had been killed with a contraption as a sick warning of the Mad King. Brandon was a bit like my elder brother Robb but was older and wilder. My bastard brother looks similar to my uncle's statue. The war followed and thousands died."

"A sad tale," Osha said.

"Lord Eddard's tomb, for when his time comes," Maester Luwin said. "Is this where you saw your father in your dream, Bran?"

"Yes." The memory made him shiver. He looked around the vault uneasily, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling. Had he heard a noise? Was there someone here?

Maester Luwin stepped toward the open sepulchre, torch in hand. "As you see, he's not here. Nor will he be, for many a year. Dreams are only dreams, child. Do you see? It's quite empty-"

The darkness sprang at him, snarling.

Bran saw eyes like green fire, a flash of teeth, fur as black as the pit around them. Maester Luwin yelled and threw up his hands.

The torch went flying from his fingers, caromed off the stone face of the large Brandon Stark, and tumbled to the statue's feet, the flames licking up his legs. In the drunken shifting torchlight, they saw Luwin struggling with the direwolf, beating at his muzzle with one hand while the jaws closed on the other.

"Summer!" Bran screamed.

And Summer came, shooting from the dimness behind them, a leaping shadow. He slammed into Shaggydog and knocked him back, and the two direwolves rolled over and over in a tangle of grey and black fur, snapping and biting at each other, while Maester Luwin struggled to his knees, his arm torn and bloody. Osha propped Bran up against Lord Rickard's stone wolf as she hurried to assist the maester. In the light of the guttering torch, shadow wolves twenty feet tall fought on the wall and roof.

"Shaggy," a small voice called. When Bran looked up, his little brother was standing in the mouth of Father's tomb. With one final snap at Summer's face, Shaggydog broke off and bounded to Rickon's side.

"You let my father be at peace," Rickon warned Luwin. "You let him be."

"Rickon," Bran said softly. "Father's not here."

"Yes he is. I saw him." Tears glistened on Rickon's face. "I saw him last night. He was talking with Uncle Brandon and our grandfather."

"You've never seen uncle and grandfather before."

"It was them. I am sure."

"In your dream?"

Rickon nodded. "You leave him. You leave him be. He's coming home now, like he promised. He's coming home."

Bran had never seen Maester Luwin took so uncertain before. Blood dripped down his arm where Shaggydog had shredded the wool of his sleeve and the flesh beneath. "Osha, the torch," he said, biting through his pain, and she snatched it up before it went out. Soot stains blackened both legs of his uncle's likeness. "That... that beast," Luwin went on, "is supposed to be chained up in the kennels."

Rickon patted Shaggydog's muzzle, damp with blood. "I let him loose. He doesn't like chains." He licked at his fingers.

"Rickon," Bran said, "would you like to come with me?"

"No. I like it here."

"It's dark here. And cold."

"I'm not afraid. I have to wait for Father."

"You can wait with me," Bran said. "We'll wait together, you and me and our wolves." Both of the direwolves were licking wounds now, and could bear close watching.

When they were in Luwin's turret, Osha began treating his wounds.

"I agree that it is odd that both you boys dreamed the same dream, yet when you stop to consider it, it's only natural. You miss your lord father, and you know that he is a captive. Fear can fever a man's mind and give him queer thoughts. Rickon is too young to comprehend-"

"I'm four now," Rickon said. He was peeking through the lens tube at the gargoyles on the First Keep. The direwolves sat on opposite sides of the large round room, licking their wounds and gnawing on bones. Bran could see why Maester Luwin was wary around the wolves. They were growing really big, though he knew Grey Wind and Ghost were the largest of the pack.

Summer began to howl.

Maester Luwin had been telling them of the First Men and the Children of the Forest and broke off, startled. When Shaggydog bounded to his feet and added his voice to his brother's, dread clutched at Bran's heart. "It's coming," he whispered.

The howling stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Summer padded across the tower floor to Shaggydog, and began to lick at a mat of bloody fur on the back of his brother's neck. From the window came a flutter of wings.

A raven landed on the grey stone sill, opened its beak, and gave a harsh, raucous rattle of distress.

Rickon began to cry. Bran pulled him close and hugged him.

Maester Luwin stared at the black bird as if it were a scorpion with feathers. He rose and moved to the window. When he whistled, the raven hopped onto his bandaged forearm. There was dried blood on its wings. "A hawk," Luwin murmured, "perhaps an owl. Poor thing, a wonder it got through." He took the letter from its leg.

Bran found that he was shivering as the maester unrolled the paper. "What is it?" he said, holding his brother all the harder.

"You know what it is, boy," Osha said, not unkindly. She put her hand on his head.

Maester Luwin looked up at them numbly, a small grey man with blood on the sleeve of his grey wool robe and tears in his bright grey eyes.

"My lords," he said to the brothers, in a voice gone hoarse and shrunken, "we... we shall need to find a stonecarver who knew his likeness well..."

Rickon screamed, but Bran tried not cry. He was a Stark of Winterfell, but he could not stop the single tear fall from his brimming eyes. His father would not want him to be sad.

**Jon**

_Prince Rhaegar Targaryen is your father, _He could still remember Lyanna saying as he sat on his bed in shock. _And I am your mother, Jon. _

_This cannot be true, _Jon thought. _This is all a sick jape being played by the old gods and the new. Eddard Stark is my father, not some prince who started a war that killed thousands._

He did not know what to feel as he ran with Ghost at his heels away from his family. Angry, sad, shocked, depressed, excited, relieved. It was not the fact that Lyanna Stark was his mother that caused him so much pain and confliction. In a way, Jon had always known even if his mind had not connected the subtle clues. Jon was actually frustrated that Robb had figured out who he really was before he had.

Jon thought of Ashara Dayne. He had never met the woman he had thought for most of his life to be his true mother. He wondered how she felt about him – the child who I claimed as my bastard to safeguard. Too many people had been in on this secret.

Jon remembered storming out with Ghost. He supposed he could or _should _have gotten angrier. He could have lashed out and let his heart take over his mind, kicking and screaming until everything he felt was free. All his hurt and cries were justified after all. But Jon could not bring himself to hold anything against his family no matter how much they pained him, if unintentionally.

Eddard Stark had lied for sixteen years to the entire realm, taking all the mockery and sacrificing his honourable reputation as a man always true to his vows. He presented Jon as his bastard son, when in actuality Jon Snow was his nephew. He had done this deed to protect his own sister and her son from the wrath of his best friend and king. It took courage and perseverance to be able to live the tale for all this time.

As a northmen, whenever Jon had wanted to clear his mind he would always approach a weirwood tree and pray to the old gods for guidance and knowledge. The blood of the First Men still flowed in his veins parallel with Old Valyria.

The godswood in Riverrun was quite different from the one grown in Winterfell. That wood had been a dark, primal place which mainly consisted of sentinels, oaks and ironwoods. Riverrun kept a bright and airy garden. Full of birds and flowers, most of the sacred forest kept tall redwoods and old elm trees that overlooked the streams. Ghost had wandered off in another direction when Jon had entered the vibrant, yet cold place.

At the centre of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were dark and warm. The weirwood's bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree. The heart tree was a weirwood with a sad, emotional face that emoted reassurance, something that Jon felt he needed.

Jon sat on the moss-covered stone beneath the weirwood. He had collected the longsword he had used to disarm Jaime Lannister, and a fresh towel. To keep his mind in bay from the cycle of emotions that was going through, Jon had placed the sword on his lap and soaked the towel with the waters of the pool and had begun a slow cleanse of the longsword. It was exactly what Lord Stark would always be like after taking a life by execution. Jon found the presence of the trees relaxing.

It was not just the revelation that affected him. The rush he had felt during that battle had been exhilarating, but afterwards Jon had only felt guilt. No matter if they were Lannisters, he had taken the lives of men.

The red eyes of the weirwood tree seemed to bore onto him, but Jon did not mind. He stroked the bare steel as his thoughts danced around his mind.

Perturbed. That was the emotion that Jon felt every time the thought of Rhaegar Targaryen crossed his mind as he stroked the longsword. Jon had never known the man and had only heard stories and recollections from Lyanna, Old Nan or even Lord Stark when all the children were surrounding the fireplace.

Even King Robert's accusations and hatred towards the Targaryen prince had not done anything to dissuade Jon's opinion of the prince – a tragic heroic figure who had tried to set the world back to balance.

Prince Rhaegar had been exceedingly intelligent and excelled at anything he had put his mind too. He had been considered to be a talented musician, being able to make a woman become helplessly in love with just the sound of his harp. Rhaegar had also been a skilled knight, proving himself in multiple tourneys. His _father _had been deeply affected by the Tragedy at Summerhall, since he had been born the day the explosion took place.

Jon attempted to conjure an image of the valiant prince in his mind from the descriptions Lyanna and Lord Eddard had given Jon and his…cousins. A tall and very handsome prince, Rhaegar had the dark lilac eyes and the silver hair of House Targaryen, with pale skin and a muscular build.

Lyanna had said he had looked very beautiful, almost inhumanly perfect, and had also carried himself gracefully and with eloquence, even when in a melee or war. His _mother –_ gods be good, Jon could not even say that word without feeling a shudder down his spine. His eyes had always held sadness to it and his face melancholic, with a voice of iron.

Jon leaned forward on the stone and bent his head, looking at the still reflection. He tried to see something that could connect him with his father. Something that would scream _TARGARYEN. _But all he saw was a confused, scarred boy staring back at him, pretending to be a man. His accomplishments during Whispering Wood seemed like nothing now.

Jon suddenly began to chuckle. The Kingslayer – the man had murdered his grandfather, the man he was supposed to protect. Was Jon supposed to act out of family obligation? Should he go back to the holding cells where they kept Lannister and shove a sword through his chest? He could almost hear. The Mad King screeching in the flames. He was a Targaryen after all, and they were known for their madness.

_Stop thinking like that, _He scolded himself. _You're a Stark as well. The blood of the First Men runs in your veins. You were raised by Eddard Stark to be a northerner. He is your father no matter, and he loved you like his own son. _

_Only because his sister made him promise, _something inside his mind argued. _What would have happened if Lyanna died? He would have probably given you to Robert. _

_That is unworthy of you to say. Eddard Stark is a good, honourable man. I am his sister's son. Even if I wasn't related to him, Lord Stark would have found a way for me to be cared for. _

_Naïve fool. Even honourable men have darkness in their hearts. The world is not made of black and white. Even the good men make bad choices. What would have happened if it was your life against Robb? The child of his seed against the child of his sister? Lord Stark himself lusted for a woman during his marriage, even if he did not bed her. You know this._

_He loved Ashara Dayne before Cateyln Stark! That is the nature of man, you cannot change that! Targaryen or Stark, does it really matter? I chose to be a northerner. _

Jon rubbed his eyes and shook his head, finding it ridiculous how he could be arguing with himself over trivial matters. They had a war to fight. As Jon tugged at his sling, he suddenly realised that he had relatives on his father's side across the narrow sea in the eastern continents. He wondered if he should find them.

Jon yawned, exhaustion and tiredness suddenly overcoming him like a flash of light. Sleep threatened to overcome in an instant, and his eyes began to droop. He did not understand what was happening, as his consciousness slipped from his body and found someone else. He cried out as the darkness overcame his sense.

_In the dream, he opened his crimson eyes. He was in the godswood. The smell from the kitchens and the Riverrun Great Hall were so great that he believed he still at the feast. He was surprised that it would continue even after everything had happened to his companion. _

_He prowled beneath the trees as silent as a mouse, never making a single noise as he searched from the prey. His brother of smoke grey fur and yellow eyes followed close behind him. His elder brother barked, as if to tell him something, but he shot him a warning look. His brother moaned in countless apologies, strange guilt curdling his long features. He never needed to say a word. _

_This night was wildly alive, full of the howling of the man-pack at their play. The sounds made him restless. He wanted to run, to hunt, he wanted to be free. He could hear the wild animals at their play, scurrying home to rest easy for the night, unaware that if they were found, he would kill them. _

_The rattle of iron made his ears prick up. His brother heard it too. They raced through the undergrowth toward the sound. They were looking for intruders, but did not find any. They found a female deer nursing her small child by the large twisted trees which gave them cover._

_Some voice was pleading for him to spare the mother and her child, but he would not have any of that. The battle had weaned him out, and he was hungry for meat of his prey. Human flesh was bitter and metallic in his mouth. His brother bounded and pounced on the female deer from the shadows in a heartbeat, tearing out her throat. _

_He came next, grabbing the screeching child by the teeth and crushing her neck. A quick death – mercy. He felt strangely guilty for killing the young deer. His yellow-eyed brother grunted and both of them began to feast._

_Once they had finished, he licked the grimy blood from around his sharp mouth. His brother savoured and kept the last fat leg to himself, chewing ravenously. _

_He shook his head at his brother, and then noticed the light deep in the wood. The figure made of silver broke into several tendrils, waving around as if beckoning for him to come close. He approached the figure cautiously, edging away from his unaware brother in silence. _

"_Come Jon," The figure placed a wispy tendril on his head as he came close. "Let me show you the truth. Let me show you your destiny." _

_The figure shimmered and he found himself looking at a crow with three eyes. "King!" The crow said. "King! King! Conqueror! Saviour! Beware of the Second Coming! The barrier that protects the realm will fall without your help!"_

_The air shimmered around him and he found himself in a completely white space, looking at some sort of projection of distant memories of the past and future. He looked for the godswood and his brother, but could not find them. _

_A great pair of bronze doors appeared to his left, grander than the rest. They swung open as the wolf neared, and he had to stop and look. Beyond loomed a cavernous stone hall, the largest he had ever seen. The skulls of dead dragons looked down from its walls. Upon a towering barbed throne – he assumed it was the Iron Throne - sat an old man in rich robes, an old man with dark eyes and long silver-grey hair. "Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat," he said to a golden haired man below him. "Let him be the king of ashes."_

_The scene erupted in fire, and he backed away in fright. _

_He saw a man with dark indigo eyes, silver hair and a kind smile. He had a commanding and respectful presence. Rhaegar Targaryen, his father. He watched him in awe, taking in the man who had planted him in his mother's body. He looked like what a king should be. _

"_Aegon," he said to a very pretty, but frail woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. "What better name for a king?"_

"_Will you make a song for him?" the woman asked. Elia Martell. The babe in her hand must be his half-brother._

"_He has a song," His father replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." _

"_The dragon must have three heads." He said, as he played the harp. He seemed to be looking at the direwolf with intent eyes._

_He would have continued to stay there forever, but the scene scattered into a million pieces. _

_He saw a seventeen year old very handsome man wearing a crown with seven spikes shaped like longswords. Over him were the flying banners of a three-headed dragon halved with the direwolf. An enormous host of men, he led. His face held deep sadness and anger, though he was fiercely determined._

_The direwolf was moved to another place, a structure of some kind which he moved only in the darkness_

_Farther on the corridor, he came upon a feast of corpses. Savagely slaughtered, the feasters lay strewn across overturned chairs and hacked trestle tables, asprawl in pools of congealing blood. Some had lost limbs, even heads. Severed hands clutched bloody cups, wooden spoons, roast fowl, heels of bread. In a towering throne above them sat a very old and wrinkled man with his throat slashed. His son's and heirs lay dead at his side, fixated by the stare of a traitor._

_Near the tables, a man who the direwolf seemed to recognise lay on the floor clutching his chest, whimpering a woman's name and his child. He looked up with his blue eyes and looked into the direwolf's crimson stare. "Jon, help them. Please. Help my wife. Save my son." Fire crackled to life as the building began to fall._

_The direwolf cried out and found himself slipping away as he felt the heat reach his white fur. The three-eyed crow let go and said. "Protect the realm, my king."_

"Jon?" A female voice broke his vision, shaking his shoulder urgently. Jon, not recognising the person at first, gripped the hilt of his longsword and bounced back on the balls of his feet, away from what he perceived as a threat. He looked blindly around, the dimness in his eyes clearing.

"Settle down. You're going to stick a hole through me if you continue to point your sword like that." This time to Jon's ears, the voice became clearer and he smiled, for he knew who it was.

"Valera? What are you doing here?" Jon asked, rubbing his eyes.

"I could ask you the same question, Snow," Valera said, smiling. "You were gone from the castle for almost four hours."

_Snow. _"Aaah, you actually counted. You do care." Jon replied. He would have said something more witty and humorous, but his heart was not into it. Robb had always been the funny and courteous one, knowing what to say to pretty girls all the time. Jon was completely clueless.

The healer crossed her arms and looked at him with concern. "What happened just then Jon? You were just staring away as if you were blind towards the deep thickest of the godswood. Your eyes… your pupils and the area surrounding were crimson like you're wolf."

_When I – warged, that what I believed happen – into…Ghost. By the gods, how did that happen? _

She came closer to him, standing in front of him. "And that trouble with that man who tried to kill you…I do not why someone would want to murder you. You're not threat to anyone."

"Thank you for saying that I am not important." Jon said.

"I did not mean-"

"I was making a joke, Valera."

Valera looked at him up and down with her big, dark Myrish eyes. "You look like you've been through hell. I am worried for you, truly. Is something wrong Jon?"

Jon really like Valera, he did. She was sweet and kind, though had the habit of speaking without thinking, never considering another's feelings. He had only known her for a day, but he felt he knew more about her than he had before. He was even sure he had feelings for her that were not just friendly.

Her mother was Myrish nobility, and her father a bannerman of Lord Blackwood. Her parents had met during one of her father's trips to Myr, and had married the following year. He did not know if it were political reasons or love. From her tone whenever she described her family, it seemed to Jon the latter.

She had an older brother named Robert, and a younger sister who was three years old. Her father's father had been a friend of Lord Hoster and Ser Brynden Tully during the Ninepenny war, and she and her brother had been fostered at Riverrun for three years at Lord Tully's request.

Valera loved helping people, and she was training alongside others to be an official nurse of the Tully army. Jon apparently had been her first soldier she had worked with, and that had initially caused him some concern. But he grew fond of the eighteen year old, who would babble on and on about her childhood and family to a complete stranger.

But he could not tell her what had happened. He did not trust himself to be honest, and he did not know how Valera would react. Hell, they had only known each other for a long time and to be honest, Jon was not sure if he could trust her with this information. He hadn't even talked it through with Lyanna and his family.

"Something…bad happened." Jon said weakly.

"No shit. Look, if you do not want to tell me, then don't and forever keep you're peace. I will find out eventually though," Jon did not doubt that, and sheathed his sword back into its scabbard. She stepped closer and reached out a hand.

"May I?"

Jon nodded, and she gently touched his scar with soft fingertips, tracing the deepness and adversity of the damned thing. Jon hated it so much. It still hurt every time he moved his face, and he felt like his eyes were bulging out of his sockets.

"It looks horrible, doesn't it?" Jon said grimly.

"Hey, enough with the sad iron tone. All you northerners are all so grim and trouble sounded," Valera said, taking her hand of his cheek. "And it's no worse than what was originally there anyway. It actually makes it look like you've been through the seven hells and worse, not a victim to the clumsiness of an assassin."

She shoved his shoulder playfully and laughed when he attempted to retort. Jon sighed and half-n like a fool, and sat back down on the moss stone, putting his head into his hands, groaning. Life was so unfair. He still kept on having those visions, and he still did not know what they meant. He did not know what the man was dying at that feast, though he had a feeling-

Valera sat down next to him silently, her shoulder touching his and she clasped her hands together on her lap. Jon felt a shudder go down his spine. She was beautiful and shapely, his mind thought of so many things that he was ashamed of thinking that-

She snapped her fingers near his ears, and Jon flinched slightly. What was wrong with him? He was so distracted, so withdrawn. Was this how it was at Winterfell? Robb, Theon and his family all complained that he was reserved and sullen, though he paid them no heed.

"By the Seven, Jon. You look like someone who is being kicked around in the head. Are you _sure _you're alright?"

"How did you even know the find me in the godswood anyway?" Jon said eager to change the subject.

Valera shrugged. "I was treating an injured soldier who had lost his right hand when I heard a string of curse words and loud footsteps race across the courtyard. I saw Ghost bound after you and I was worried. They had not let anyone see you after what happened. Apparently someone had to tell you something important."

Jon flushed, and Valera looked at him suspiciously though she did not comment. "Lord Hoster told me once that the Stark's always went into the godswood when they wanted to be in privacy, so I quickly finished my shift and well…here I am."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "I see you don't respect my privacy."

Before she could reply, Jon heard the rustle of footsteps and saw a man running up to their position. It was still dark and Jon could only dimly see the sigil of the leaping trout on the man's leather clothes. He had been worried someone was out to attack him again and had laid a hand on the hilt of his sword.

_Never draw out your blade unless you mean to use it! _Ser Rodrik had always told Robb, Theon and him.

The man stumbled when he foot caught a tree branch, so Jon launched forward and grabbed him by the waist, straightening him up and patting him on the back. "My good man, are you alright?"

The man looked almost in awe of Jon as he let him go. "My lord, I am sorry."

"_My lord?" _Valera said. "Jon is not a lord."

_A prince more like it. _

"Sorry, my lord, I did not know you had company." The man said, eyeing Valera. He then turned his attention on Jon. "My lord, I have been looking for you all over the castle."

"Sorry," Jon said apologetically. "I came here to pray."

"Of course." The man said, looking back at Valera with a funny stare. The healer blushed, though Jon did not know why.

It was only when Jon looked closer at his plain face that he knew something was wrong. His mouth tightened as he saw the man's eyes drop in sadness.

"What is it?" Jon asked cautiously. Was it to do with Lord Stark? Or was it Lyanna?

The man bowed his head and would not mean Jon in the eye. Jon waited patiently for him to compile a reply, but the next words from the man's mouth shook and knocked him off his core. He had not been expecting it so soon.

"My lord, I am so sorry. My condolences mean nothing, but I am truly sorry for bringing you this news especially after what happened previously." The man gulped. "Lord Eddard…is dead. He is gone, executed by the command of King Joffrey."

Somewhere deep in the godswood, a direwolf howled in sadness and anger. The crows began circling the wood as salty tears fell from his eyes.

**Robb**

Robb had awoken from his own dreams of wolves, lions, stags and dragons when Maester Vyman came for him.

"My lord Stark. The lord nobles of the North have convened in your grandfather's solar, as you requested."

"Good," Robb said. "Tell them I will be only a few moments."

The maester bowed and took his leave.

Robb shivered from the sudden breeze that entered the room. He stood from his bed, wearing only wear for his waist and began to change his clothes. His heavy wolf cloak was clasped with a bronze direwolf with black trousers and a leather doublet.

He looked for Grey Wind, but then remembered the direwolf was hunting.

As he made his way for his grandfather's solar, he looked back at the days event. It had been going so well until he had opened his mouth to disobey his mother and aunt's wishes. If Robb had listened, to wait for Howland Reed in the morning, then perhaps his conscious would not feel so hollow. Most times, Robb wished he listened to his mother more.

The dream he had just woken up from still scared him. He had been running inside the skin of his direwolf alongside Ghost, and then they had found the pair of deer's. Instinct had drawn him to kill them and feast on their flesh, though he could see his pack-brother was hesitant. Robb had wondered if Jon was experiencing the same vision.

Robb believed what had he had just done was called warging. Jon had told Robb and Bran once during one of their nights in the godswood of what it meant. It was the ability to enter the minds of animals and perceive the world through their senses, and even control their senses.

Robb had found the concept ridiculous, but now he was not so sure. He had been terrified when he found himself in Grey Wind's body, unable to move and only able to witness what his yellowed eyed wolf was seeing. But over that brief time, Robb had gotten used to it.

As Robb made his way, he wondered all of a sudden where Jon was. Was he still praying in the godswood? Perhaps he had been controlling Ghost? Or perhaps in his room sleeping, mulling over what he had just learned. Robb still felt immense guilt.

_We just broke the truth for him that he known for sixteen years all in ten minutes, _Robb thought. _I can only imagine what is going on in his head. _Robb pondered on how he would feel if he was in his brother's – no, _cousin's – _shoes. He did not think he would take it as well as Jon had. Jon was always the more sullen and quiet boy, though he persona had changed a great deal between the marches.

Robb shook his head to clear those thoughts as he opened the door to his grandfather's solar, which was larger than his lord father's. When he entered, he found that the maester had been correct as all the lords and ladies that he had seen during the feasting were present around the long iron table carved with eloquent designs of water life.

Lord Jon Umber, his staunchest supporter, was at the left side of the table alongside most of the noble northern lords with Theon, Lord Ryswell (a man Robb had spoken a few words), red eyed Lord Rickard, Lady Maege (Robb was fond of the Mormonts), Robett Glover the heir to Deepwood Motte, Lord Locke, Lord Cerwyn and Robin Flint of Widow's Watch.

Sitting on his grandfather's seat was his uncle Edmure. Robb did not know him well, but he was warming up to his mother's brother. She had been correct in saying they both shared appearance. By him was his great uncle Blackfish whom Robb respected, then Lord Tytos Blackwood, Ser Robin Ryger – the captain of the Tully guard, a distraught Lord Jason Mallister, a wary Lord Jonos Bracken, an eager Lord Marq Piper, a weasel faced Ser Stevron Frey, Ser Ronald Vance and finally Lord Vance and his son Karyl.

They all muttered "My lord," when Robb approached slowly.

Robb nodded to his uncle before standing opposite across the stable with his hands behind his back. He suddenly felt very nervous. He did not know if he was betraying Jon by doing this, but he knew if must be done if they had any chance.

"My lords and ladies," Robb said. They nodded to him in response. "I thank you for convening at such short notice."

Lord Jon said, "Aye, Lord Robb. But what happened with Jon Snow, if I may ask. I am awfully curious."

"You do know what curiosity did to the cat, Jon. Don't you? " Lady Maege asked cheekily.

The Umber lord frowned, clearly not knowing.

"Curiosity killed the cat, my lord," Robb explained to him while shaking his head. "But that is also part of the reason why all of you have been called in my grandfather's solar. The attempted assassination on Jon's life has resurfaced a secret that had been hidden for sixteen years. A secret that could tear apart the realm if brought out publicly in these dire times."

"I still do not understand why someone would want to kill Snow," Marq Piper said. "He is only a bastard. He is not threat to anyone besides the people wanting revenge for his defeat of Ser Jaime."

Robb resisted the temptation to put a hand to the hilt of his sword for what Piper said. He did not blame him for calling Jon a bastard for he did not know.

"I would advise all of you lords to shut your mouths," Blackfish warned. "Questions will only slow down what Robb has to say."

"Do you know what is?" Tytos Blackwood asked to his great-uncle, who nodded.

Edmure sighed. "Hurry Robb and tell the other lords. Many of us are tired after today's events and we could use some sleep before planning our next move tomorrow."

"Yes, my lord," Ser Stevron said. "Lord Robb, please continue."

Robb agreed and waited for the other lords to stop chattering, casting a long, cold gaze that hid emotion to all of them.

Robb realised he had to choose his words carefully. "Sixteen years ago, during Robert's Rebellion, my aunt Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen ran off together."

"To the sorrow of the realm." Lord Jonos Bracken muttered.

"Shut it, Bracken." Tytos snarled. Before Jonos could reply, Robb cut in. "Stop it. My lords, I was an infant at my mother's breast at that time. May I have someone give the tale of the war to all of us before I continue?"

The lords and lady hesitated, but it was Ser Stevron Frey who took the challenge. Robb remembered that he was supposed to marry a member of House Frey when the fighting ended. It gave him a shudder, thinking of a weasel faced female version of Walder Frey.

"My lord, Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn and your father raised their banners to rebel against the Mad King for he had threatened all their lives. After almost a year of fighting, Prince Rhaegar emerged from his place with your aunt and marched to the Trident, where Robert killed Rhaegar in single combat. The Rebel Army then sent the Royalists chasing."

"No thanks to you, Frey," Lord Umber murmured. "Where were you during the fighting, while good men lost their lives for what they believed in?"

"My father was only being cautious." Stevron argued.

"Being late is what I would call it." Lord Rickard said.

Robb had to stop them or another civil war would break out. "My lords! Thank you for you insights. I believe I can finish. My father chased the royalists back to King's Landing, where Tywin Lannister had already sacked the capitol."

Lord Umber spat on the floor, earning him a hard look from his uncle.

"Jaime Lannister had murdered his king in cold blood, and Ser Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch had done themselves a killing with Rhaegar's wife and his only children."

"May the Seven bless their souls," Bracken said, making a sign of peace.

"That is well and good, my lord. The war a long time ago. But what is the point?" Greatjon asked. Robb smiled, knowing the Umbers always to be impatient.

"The point is, Lord Umber, which I am here to tell you that not all of Rhaegar's children died on that die. One in fact did survive, and still leaves and breathes to this day."

"That cannot be, my lord," Ser Marq cried as the others began to mutter. "The dragons are dead!"

"Not all of them fool," Robett Glover said. "Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen are still across the narrow sea."

"I heard that Prince Viserys is dead." Ser Ronald Vance said.

"My lord, Rhaegar's line died during the Sack," Lord Blackwood said. "I saw their as a witness when Tywin laid Aegon, Rhaenys and Princess Elia's corpses wrapped in crimson cloaks. The babe's face was crushed beyond recognition," He shuddered. "Sometimes I wish I had not joined at the Trident as well."

Robb shook his head. "That is not the point. I am not talking about Prince Viserys or Princess Daenerys, or even the deceased prince and princess. I am talking about the unknown son of Rhaegar Targaryen."

"Rhaegar has no other legitimate child besides-" Ser Ronald began.

Robb shook his head to interrupt him. "With his wife," was all he said.

He lowered his gaze, waiting for the first person to respond. They all seemed to be in utter surprise.

"My lord, are you suggesting that Rhaegar had another child?" Lord Tytos asked.

"I am not suggesting anything," Robb said. "Suggesting would mean that I am unsure of the answer myself. But that is not the case. I _know he _had another child. A legitimate child with another woman who has a claim to the throne,"

"My gods," Lord Jon Umber breathed. That was the first time Robb had seen the man shocked. Nothing had seemed to faze him until now. "He has another wife."

"Lady Lyanna," Lady Maege offered.

"An ancient Targaryen tradition of taking multiple wives." Lord Cerwyn whispered.

"Correct," Robb said. "This may come as a shock to many of you, though I have suspicions that some of you may have known of this."

Robb took a deep breath to calm his nerves. "The child I am telling you about is none other than my believed bastard brother Jon Snow, who by the laws of the gods and man is in fact Jon Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Targaryen dynasty."

The reaction was exactly as he had expected. At first, the lords and lady had been shaken into disbelief. Robb could tell the river lords could not believe what they were hearing. But the northerners, oh, they were starting to understand.

Theon said, "Jon is Lyanna's son? That…how can that be…that makes some sort of sense."

"MY LORD!" Greatjon boomed, shaking the table slightly. "This cannot be true. Jon is your brother."

"Wrong," Lord Karstark said. "His cousin. Isn't it obvious? I am a fool for not seeing it."

Lord Cerwyn and Lord Ryswell were stunned themselves. "Lady Lyanna was always closest with Jon to my understanding. It now makes more sense when I think about it."

"Lord Robb," Robett Glover had been silent for most of meeting. "How can this be true? Lord Eddard raised Jon as his own bastard, even acknowledged him for the world to see."

"He brought Jon up as his bastard to protect him," Brynden Tully explained. "Jon and Lyanna are his own family, Glover. I expect you would have done the same."

"You mistake my intentions if you think I would cause offence," Glover said hurryingly. "I would have gladly defended Jon if he were my nephew. I just find it hard to believe. A Stark has only once mated with the Targaryens and that was during the early days of the united monarchy."

Robb knew from Jon that this was King Aenys Targaryen, who has taken a Stark wife as his consort. If the histories were true and Jon had told Bran and him that sometimes they weren't, Jaehaerys the First and his sister-wife were half-Stark's.

"That would mean the dragons are not all dead," Young and hot-headed Marq Piper said eagerly. "Good."

"How is that good?" Lord Jonos asked. "It is more danger for him now that the realm knows? No wonder the assassin was hired to kill him. The Queen or one of those scoundrels in King's Landing must have realised Jon's existence was a threat to King Joffrey."

Robb was disappointed with himself. He controlled authority, but he felt like he didn't know how to use it.

_I wonder how father would handle these high lords. _He thought. _Jon would be better at this than I. He always knew how to handle any situations. _

That was one of the many things Robb would always feel jealous of his brother-cousin.

Robb waved his hand, cutting off the growing noise with a look. "My lords, I only tell you for I do not want you to be blind if someone terrible should happen. We have another reason to hurt the Lannister: no one hurts my family. The assassin scarred Jon probably for life."

"Robb," Edmure had been strangely quiet for a man who tended to speak too much at the wrong or right times. "We cannot sit on this information, you know that."

"What do you mean, my lord?" Stevron Frey asked confused.

_Lord now, eh?_

Robb wondered if Stevron Frey was cursing the world, for a prince had been present during the negotiations and House Frey had missed their chance. It did not matter though, since Jon would never been king.

"We must entertain the possibly the Lannisters may have us tried and executed for treason if we lose," Edmure said quietly. "Jon is our best option for peace and stability."

"I do not understand." Lord Ryswell said.

"What Edmure is saying is that we should look to Jon for a ruler." Blackfish said, looking at Robb.

Before he could make a reply of anger, an urgent and fast knocking came from outside the door.

"My lords, an important and…disturbing news from the capitol." The man said as the lords trailed back into silence after discussing between themselves.

"Come in," Edmure straightened up in Robb's grandfather's seat.

The door creaked open and a bald man with brown eyes and a short stature entered holding a roll of paper, fear and sadness in his eyes.

"What is it?" Edmure asked urgently.

The man looked down hesitantly at the letter, and then at Robb.

Robb narrowed his eyes, looking expectantly at the guard. "Tell us."

"My lords," The man said after taking a deep sigh of trepidation. "I am so sorry Lord Robb, but…you're father…is dead. He was executed on the command of King Joffrey Baratheon."

Robb's insides twisted, and he felt something suck climb up to the end of his throat. He felt like letting it all loose as the cries erupted from the room.

**Sansa **

In the tower room at the heart of Maegor's Holdfast, Sansa gave herself to the darkness. She drew the curtains around her bed, slept, woke weeping, and slept again. When she could not sleep she lay under her blankets shivering with grief. Servants came and went, bringing meals, but the sight of food was more than she could bear. The dishes piled up on the table beneath her window, untouched and spoiling, until the servants took them away again.

Sometimes her sleep was leaden and dreamless, and she woke from it more tired than when she had closed her eyes. Yet those were the best times, for when she dreamed, she dreamed of Father. Waking or sleeping, she saw him, saw the gold cloaks fling him down, saw Ser Ilyn striding forward, unsheathing Ice from the scabbard on his back, saw the moment... the moment when... she had wanted to look away, she had wanted to, her legs had gone out from under her and she had fallen to her knees, yet somehow she could not turn her head, and all the people were screaming and shouting for Joffrey to stop.

Her prince had promised mercy and even if her father had not delivered on his promise, at least he could have been sent to the Wall. Her prince had almost snarled at her before until he said those words, and her father's legs... that was what she remembered, his legs, the way they'd jerked when Ser Ilyn... when the sword...

_Perhaps I will die too,_ she told herself, and the thought did not seem so terrible to her. If she flung herself from the window, she could put an end to her suffering, and in the years to come the singers would write songs of her grief. Her body would lie on the stones below, broken and innocent, shaming all those who had betrayed her. Sansa went so far as to cross the bedchamber and throw open the shutters... but then her courage left her, and she ran back to her bed, sobbing.

She dreamt of footsteps on the tower stair, an ominous scraping of leather on stone as a man climbed slowly toward her bedchamber, step by step. All she could do was huddle behind her door and listen, trembling, as he came closer and closer. It was Ser Ilyn Payne, she knew, coming for her with Ice in his hand, coming to take her head. There was no place to run, no place to hide, no way to bar the door. Finally the footsteps stopped and she knew he was just outside, standing there silent with his dead eyes and his long pocked face. That was when she realized she was naked. She crouched down, trying to cover herself with her hands, as her door began to swing open, creaking, the point of the greatsword poking through...

She woke murmuring, "Please, please, I'll be good, I'll be good, please don't," but there was no one to hear.

When they finally came for her in truth, Sansa never heard their footsteps. It was Joffrey who opened her door, not Ser Ilyn but the boy who had been her prince. She was in bed, curled up tight, her curtains drawn, and she could not have said if it was noon or midnight. The first thing

She heard was the slam of the door. Then her bed hangings were yanked back, and she threw up a hand against the sudden light and saw them standing over her.

"You will attend me in court this afternoon," Joffrey said. "See that you bathe and dress as befits my betrothed." Sandor Clegane stood at his shoulder in a plain brown doublet and green mantle, his burned face hideous in the morning light. Behind them were two knights of the Kingsguard in long white satin cloaks.

Sansa drew her blanket up to her chin to cover herself. "No," she whimpered, "please... leave me be."

"If you won't rise and dress yourself, my Hound will do it for you," Joffrey said.

"I beg of you, my prince."

"I'm king now. Dog, get her out of bed."

Sandor Clegane scooped her up around the waist and lifted her off the featherbed as she struggled feebly. Her blanket fell to the floor. Underneath she had only a thin bed gown to cover her nakedness. "Do as you're bid, child," Clegane said. "Dress." He pushed her toward her wardrobe, almost gently.

Sansa backed away from them. "I did as the queen asked, I wrote the letters. I wrote what she told me. You promised you'd be merciful. Please, let me go home. I won't do any treason, I'll be good, I swear it. I only want to go home."

Remembering her courtesies, she lowered her head. "As it pleases you," she finished weakly.

"It does not please me," Joffrey said. "Mother says I'm still to marry you, so you'll stay here, and you'll obey."

"I don't want to marry you," Sansa wailed. "You chopped off my father's head!"

"He was a traitor, and you heard those outlandish treasonous words from his own mouth, trying to usurp my throne. I never promised to spare him, only that I'd be merciful, and I was. If he hadn't been your father, I would have had him torn or flayed, but I gave him a clean death."

_Only because those words were true, You're Grace. _Sansa now understood what her father had proclaimed to the crowd. Joffrey looked nothing like King Robert. It disgusted her that such an abomination existed. Incest was against everything of the Seven.

Sansa stared at him, seeing him for the first time. He was wearing a padded crimson doublet patterned with lions and a cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar that framed his face. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. "I hate you," she whispered.

King Joffrey's face hardened. "My mother tells me that it isn't fitting that a king should strike his wife. Ser Meryn."

The knight was on her before she could think, yanking back her hand as she tried to shield her face and backhanding her across the ear with a gloved fist. Sansa did not remember failing, yet the next she knew she was sprawled on one knee among the rushes. Her head was ringing. Ser Meryn Trant stood over her, with blood on the knuckles of his white silk glove.

"Will you obey now, or shall I have him chastise you again?"

Sansa's ear felt numb. She touched it, and her fingertips came away wet and red. "I... as... as you command, my lord."

"Your Grace," Joffrey corrected her. "I shall look for you in court." He turned and left.

Ser Meryn and Ser Arys followed him out, but Sandor Clegane lingered long enough to yank her roughly to her feet. "Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants."

After he was gone, Sansa sank back onto the rushes, staring at the wall until two of her bed maids crept timidly into the chamber. "I will need hot water for my bath, please," she told them, "and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise." The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful.

The balcony was deserted save for Sansa. She stood with her head bowed; fighting to hold back her tears, while below Joffrey sat on the Iron Throne and dispensed what it pleased him to call justice.

If what her father had said was true, then Jon should have been the one sitting on the seat. He would be a good king, honourable and smart. In another world, if Jon had been king, Sansa would not have minded marrying him.

Nine cases out of ten seemed to bore him; those he allowed his council to handle, squirming restlessly while Lord Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, or Queen Cersei resolved the matter. When he did choose to make a ruling, though, not even his queen mother could sway him.

A thief was brought before him and he had Ser Ilyn chop his hand off, right there in court.

Two knights came to him with a dispute about some land, and he decreed that they should duel for it on the morrow.

"To the death," he added.

A woman fell to her knees to plead for the head of a man executed as a traitor. She had loved him, she said, and she wanted to see him decently buried.

"If you loved a traitor, you must be a traitor too," Joffrey said. Two gold cloaks dragged her off to the dungeons.

A minor lord cried for pardons for his brother, who had ridden off with fifty men to join the Stark-Tully army in the Riverlands after her father's execution.

"You should have killed him instead of coming to me. For that, you as well are a traitor." He had him killed on the spot.

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him.

The last case was a plump tavern singer; accused of making a song that ridiculed the late King Robert. Joff commanded them to fetch his wood harp and ordered him to perform the song for the court. The singer wept and swore he would never sing that song again, but the king insisted.

It was sort of a funny song, all about Robert fighting with a pig. The pig was the boar that'd killed him, Sansa knew, but in some verses it almost sounded as if he were singing about the queen. The song ended with the king being fooled by the golden pig with three piglets not his, and that it was the greatest jape of all.

When the song was done, Joffrey announced that he'd decided to be merciful. The singer could keep either his fingers or his tongue. He would have a day to make his choice.

That was the final business of the afternoon, Sansa saw with relief, but her ordeal was not yet done. When the herald's voice dismissed the court, she fled the balcony, only to find Joffrey waiting for her at the base of the curving stairs. The Hound was with him and Ser Meryn as well.

The young king examined her critically, top to bottom. "You look much better than you did."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Sansa said.

"Walk with me," Joffrey commanded, offering her his arm. She had no choice but to take it.

The touch of his hand would have thrilled her once; now it made her flesh crawl.

"My name day will be here soon," Joffrey said as they slipped out the rear of the throne room. "There will be a great feast, and gifts. What are you going to give me?"

_Your head cut from your body would be my choice, You're Grace._

"A sword to replace the one my sister threw in the Trident." Sansa replied quickly.

That seemed to amuse the king. "Yes, that would be good. Mother says she will get me a crossbow. A sword would be preferable as well, especially from my betrothed."

"Yes, you're grace. A splendid sword for a splendid king." Sansa said, hoping he would not hit her.

Joffrey nodded. "This way." He led her into the gatehouse, to the base of the steps that led up to the battlements.

Sansa jerked back away from him, trembling. Suddenly she knew where they were going. "No," she said, her voice a frightened gasp. "Please, no, don't make me, I beg you..."

Joffrey pressed his lips together. "I want to show you what happens to traitors."

Sansa shook her head wildly. "I won't. I won't."

"I can have Ser Meryn drag you up," he said. "You won't like that. You had better do what I say." Joffrey reached for her, and Sansa cringed away from him, backing into the Hound.

"Do it, girl," Sandor Clegane told her, pushing her back toward the king. His mouth twitched on the burned side of his face and Sansa could almost hear the rest of it. He'll have you up there no matter what, so give him what he wants.

She forced herself to take King Joffrey's hand. The climb was something out of a nightmare; every step was a struggle, as if she were pulling her feet out of ankle-deep mud, and there were more steps than she would have believed, a thousand steps, and horror waiting on the ramparts.

From the high battlements of the gatehouse, the whole world spread out below them. Sansa could see the Great Sept of Baelor on Visenya's hill, where her father had died. At the other end of the Street of the Sisters stood the fire-blackened ruins of the Dragonpit. To the west, the swollen red sun was half-hidden behind the Gate of the Gods. The salt sea was at her back, and to the south were the fish market and the docks and the swirling torrent of the Blackwater Rush. And to the north...

She turned that way, and saw only the city, streets and alleys and hills and bottoms and more streets and more alleys and the stone of distant walls. Yet she knew that beyond them was open country, farms and fields and forests, and beyond that, north and north and north again, stood Winterfell.

"What are you looking at?" Joffrey said. "This is what I wanted you to see, right here."

A thick stone parapet protected the outer edge of the rampart, reaching as high as Sansa's chin, with crenulations cut into it every five feet for archers. The heads were mounted between the crenels, along the top of the wall, impaled on iron spikes so they faced out over the city. Sansa had noted them the moment she'd stepped out onto the wall walk, but the river and the bustling streets and the setting sun were ever so much prettier.

_He can make me look at the heads, she told herself, but he can't make me see them._

"This one is your father," he said. "This one here. Dog, turn it around so she can see him."

Sandor Clegane took the head by the hair and turned it. The severed head had been dipped in tar to preserve it longer. Sansa looked at it calmly, not seeing it at all.

It did not really look like her father, she thought; it did not even look real "How long do I have to look?"

Joffrey seemed disappointed. "Do you want to see the rest?" There was a long row of them.

"If it pleases, You're Grace."

Joffrey marched her down the wall walk, past a dozen more heads and two empty spikes.

"I'm saving those for my uncle Stannis and my uncle Renly," he explained. "I never thought my father's brother could prove themselves traitors to the rightful king."

The other heads had been dead and mounted much longer than her father. Despite the tar, most were long past being recognizable. The king pointed to one and said, "That's your septa there," but Sansa could not even have told that it was a woman. The jaw had rotted off her face, and birds had eaten one ear and most of a cheek.

Sansa had wondered what had happened to Septa Mordane, although she supposed she had known all along. "Why did you kill her?" she asked. "She was god sworn..."

"She was a traitor." Joffrey looked pouty. "You've told me what you're getting me for my nameday, but I find it unsatisfactory. Maybe I should give you something instead, would you like that?"

"If it pleases you, my lord," Sansa said.

"Your brother and cousin are traitors too, you know. I remember them both quite well from Winterfell after the beating they gave me. Your brother defeated my uncle Jaime and his host, while your cousin personally captured him in combat. Seems like my uncle isn't the greatest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms after all if he was defeated by a dragon. My mother says it was treachery and deceit. She wept when she heard. Women are all weak, even her, though she pretends she isn't. She says we need to stay in King's Landing in case my other uncles attack, but I don't care. After my name day feast, I'm going to raise a host and kill your brother myself."

He smiled at her mockingly. "And then, I will have your cousin in my custody and have him flayed and torn as I commit these acts myself with you and your bestial sister watches, and you're whore aunt is raped and savaged by my men. I will make sure he will endure for a long time so he can suffer for his crimes. That's what I'll give you, Lady Sansa. Your brother's head and Jon's destroyed corpse. I'll feed both to the dogs afterwards alongside your uncle Edmure and your decaying grandfather. In fact, I might eradicate the entire Stark and Tully bloodline just for treason. How would you like that?"

A kind of madness took over her then, and she heard herself say, "Maybe my brother will give me your head."

Joffrey scowled. "You must never mock me like that. A true wife does not mock her lord. Ser Meryn, teach her."

This time the knight grasped her beneath the jaw and held her head still as he struck her. He hit her twice, left to right, and harder, right to left. Her lip split and blood ran down her chin, to mingle with the salt of her tears.

"You shouldn't be crying all the time," Joffrey told her. "You're prettier when you smile and laugh."

Sansa made herself smile, afraid that he would have Ser Meryn hit her again if she did not, but it was no good, the king still shook his head. "Wipe off the blood, you're all messy."

The outer parapet came up to her chin, but along the inner edge of the walk was nothing, nothing but a long plunge to the bailey seventy or eighty feet below. _All it would take was a shove, she_ told herself.

_You could do it, _she told herself. _You could. Do it right now. It wouldn't even matter if she went over with him. It wouldn't matter at all_.

She would be doing the realm a great service.

"Here, girl," Sandor Clegane knelt before her, between her and Joffrey. With a delicacy surprising in such a big man, he dabbed at the blood welling from her broken lip.

The moment was gone. Sansa lowered her eyes. "Thank you," she said when he was done.

"You're lucky to be alive," Joffrey said, his voice dripping with venom. "I wanted to execute you after your father broke his word publicly with a hanging, but Lord Varys, my mother and the council convinced me otherwise. I'll just have to settle with savouring the moment I get my hands on your brother and cousin. Remember that Sansa, I could have you killed for the crime of being a daughter of a traitor. Remember that you stupid girl – I _can_ change my mind. I am the king after all and he is able to do as he likes."

Sansa remembered the furious motion of the crowd when her father's head had been removed. She had thought they would break free of the City Guards and snap Joffrey's neck. For one fleeting moment, she had hoped.

She was a good girl, and always remembered her courtesies as she bowed for Joffrey's leave. "I will look for you at court." He said before leaving with his Kingsguard knights, leaving her alone with her father's head on a spike.

_Hurry Robb, Hurry Jon, save me from this hell. _

**_This chapter is mostly filler, but I am just finishing chapter 10. Hopefully, I'll have it uploaded tomorrow. If you have any questions or story suggestions, PM me. _**


	10. Chapter 10

_**The tenth chapter was exceeding 20,000, so I had to split it again. Sorry, but I know you guys want to see more regular updates so I just got the parts I thought were cohesive. I hope you like it.**_

**Tyrion**

They have my son," Tywin Lannister said.

"They do, my lord." The messenger's voice was filled with exhaustion. On the breast of his torn surcoat, the brindled boar of Crakehall was half-obscured by dried blood.

_One of your sons,_ Tyrion thought.

He took a sip of wine and said not a word, thinking of Jaime. When he lifted his arm, pain shot through his elbow, reminding him of his own brief taste of battle. He loved his brother, but he was glad he had not been in the Whispering Wood for all the gold of Casterly Rock.

His lord father's assembled captains and bannermen had fallen very quiet as the courier told his tale.

He had been upstairs, enjoying the comfort of a featherbed and the warmth of Shae's body beside him, when his squire had woken him to say that a rider had arrived with dire news of Riverrun. So it had all been for nothing. The rush south, the endless forced marches, the bodies left beside the road... all for naught. Robb Stark had reached Riverrun days and days ago and was feasting in its halls.

"The Stark boy appears to be less green than we hoped." Tyrion said.

"I heard that his wolf combined with Snow's killed perhaps a hundred soldiers themselves."

"How could this happen?" Ser Harys Swyft moaned. "How? Even after the Whispering Wood, you had Riverrun ringed in iron, surrounded by a great host... what madness made Ser Jaime decide to split his men into three separate camps? Surely he knew how vulnerable that would leave them?"

_Better than you, you coward, _Tyrion thought. Jaime might have lost Riverrun, but it angered him to hear his brother slandered by the likes of Swyft.

"I would have done the same," his uncle responded, a good deal more calmly than Tyrion might have.

"You have never seen Riverrun, Ser Harys, or you would know that Jaime had little choice in the matter. The castle is situated at the end of the point of land where the Tumblestone flows into the Red Fork of the Trident. The rivers form two sides of a triangle, and when danger threatens, the Tullys open their sluice gates upstream to create a wide moat on the third side, turning Riverrun into an island. The walls rise sheer from the water, and from their towers the defenders have a commanding view of the opposite shores for many leagues around. To cut off all the approaches, a besieger needs to place one camp north of the Tumblestone, one south of the Red Fork, and a third between the rivers, west of the moat. There is no other way, none."

"Ser Kevan speaks truly, my lords," the courier said. "We'd built palisades of sharpened stakes around the camps, yet it was not enough, not with no warning and the rivers cutting us off from each other. They came down on the north camp first. No one was expecting an attack. Marq Piper had been raiding our supply trains, but he had no more than fifty men. Ser Jaime had gone out to deal with them the night before... well, with what we thought was them. We were told the Stark host was east of the Green Fork, marching south..."

"And your outriders?" Ser Gregor Clegane's face might have been hewn from rock. The fire in the hearth gave a sombre orange cast to his skin and put deep shadows in the hollows of his eyes. "They saw nothing? They gave you no warning?"

The bloodstained messenger shook his head. "Our outriders had been vanishing. Marq Piper's work, we thought. The ones who did come back had seen nothing."

"A man who sees nothing has no use for his eyes," the Mountain declared. "Cut them out and give them to your next outrider. Tell him you hope that four eyes might see well than two... and if not, the man after him will have six."

Lord Tywin Lannister turned his face to study Ser Gregor. Tyrion saw a glimmer of gold as the light shone off his father's pupils, but he could not have said whether the look was one of approval or disgust. Lord Tywin was oft quiet in council, preferring to listen before he spoke, a habit Tyrion himself tried to copy. Yet this silence was uncharacteristic even for him, and his wine was untouched.

"You said they came at night," Ser Kevan prompted.

The man gave a weary nod. "The Blackfish led the van, cutting down our sentries and clearing away the palisades for the main assault. By the time our men knew what was happening; riders were pouring over the ditch banks and galloping through the camp with swords and torches in hand. I was sleeping in the west camp, between the rivers. When we heard the fighting and saw the tents being fired, Lord Brax led us to the rafts and we tried to pole across, but the current pushed us downstream and the Tullys started flinging rocks at us with the catapults on their walls. I saw one raft smashed to kindling and three others overturned, men swept into the river and drowned... and those who did make it across found the Starks waiting for them on the riverbanks."

Ser Flement Brax wore a silver-and-purple tabard and the look of a man who cannot comprehend what he has just heard. "My lord father-"

"Sorry, my lord," the messenger said. "Lord Brax was clad in plate-and-mail when his raft overturned. He was very gallant."

_He was a fool,_ Tyrion thought, swirling his cup and staring down into the winy depths. Crossing a river at night on a crude raft, wearing armour, with an enemy waiting on the other side-if that was gallantry, he would take cowardice every time. He took a deep draft.

"The camp between the rivers was overrun as well," the messenger was saying. "While we were trying to cross, more Starks swept in from the west, two columns of armoured horse. I saw Lord Umber's giant-in-chains and the Mallister eagle, but it was the boy who led them, with a monstrous wolf running at his side. I wasn't there to see, but it's said the beast killed four men and ripped apart a dozen horses. Our spearmen formed up a shield wall and held against their first charge, but when the Tullys saw them engaged, they opened the gates of Riverrun and Tytos Blackwood led a sortie across the drawbridge and took them in the rear."

"Gods save us," Lord Lefford swore.

"Greatjon Umber fired the siege towers we were building, and Lord Blackwood found Ser Edmure Tully in chains among the other captives, and made off with them all. Our south camp was under the command of Ser Forley Prester. He retreated in good order when he saw that the other camps were lost, with two thousand spears and as many bowmen, but the Tyroshi sellsword who led his free riders struck his banners and went over to the foe."

"Curse the man." His uncle Kevan sounded more angry than surprised. "I warned Jaime not to trust that one. A man who fights for coin is loyal only to his purse."

Lord Tywin wove his fingers together under his chin. Only his eyes moved as he listened.

"How could it happen?" Ser Harys Swyft wailed again. "Ser Jaime taken, the siege broken... this is a catastrophe!"

"And what a way to be captured – by a bastard boy no less than sixteen who had never been in war!" Ser Flement cried.

"At least Jaime took Patrek Mallister, Deryk Frey, Eddard Karstark and countless others with him before being defeated." Ser Kevan argued.

"Robb Stark and Jon Snow are good commanders and expert swordsman by all accounts," Ser Addam said. "At least Jaime was defeated with honour."

"A bastard cannot take command, you know that." Ser Lefford retorted.

"The northerners are different, and Jon Snow and Robb Stark alongside others are some of the best swordsman in the north. Jaime at least went down with his honour intact."

"Yes, but by a bastard of the north. Disgraceful!" Ser Harys said.

_Careful, you chinless craven. Lannister's will not take kindly to those words. _

Tyrion was surprised that Jon had disarmed Jaime relatively with no serious wounds. He knew Snow was good with a sword, but taking down his brother was a different calibre. He wondered if Ghost had anything to do with it.

Ser Addam Marbrand said, "I am sure we are all grateful to you for pointing out the obvious, Ser Harys. The question is, what shall we do about it?"

"What can we do? Jaime's host is all slaughtered or taken or put to flight, and the Starks and the Tullys sit squarely across our line of supply. We are cut off from the west! They can march on Casterly Rock if they so choose, and what's to stop them? My lords, we are beaten. We must sue for peace." Ser Lefford suggested.

Tyrion swirled his empty cup thoughtfully, and then knocked it to the floor, where it shattered into thousands of pieces. All the lords, including his father, turned slowly to look at him.

"There's your peace," Tyrion said, looking down at the pieces. "Joffrey saw to that when he decided to remove Ned Stark's head. You'll have an easier time drinking from that cup, than bringing Robb Stark to the table."

He looked up at them. "He's winning…or haven't you noticed?"

"Two victories do not make a war," Ser Addam insisted. "We are far from lost. I should welcome the chance to try my own steel against this Stark boy."

"Perhaps they would consent to a truce, and allow us to trade our prisoners for theirs," offered Lord Lefford.

"Unless they trade three-for-one, we still come out light on those scales," Tyrion said acidly. "And what are we to offer for my brother? Lord Eddard's rotting head?"

"I had heard that Queen Cersei has the Hand's daughters," Lefford said hopefully. "If we give the lad his sister's back..."

Ser Addam snorted disdainfully. "He would have to be an utter ass to trade Jaime Lannister's life for two girls."

"Then we must ransom Ser Jaime, whatever it costs," Lord Lefford said.

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "If the Starks feel the need for gold, they can melt down Jaime's armour."

"If we ask for a truce, they will think us weak," Ser Addam argued. "We should march on them at once."

"Surely our friends at court could be prevailed upon to join us with fresh troops," said Ser Harys. "And someone might return to Casterly Rock to raise a new host."

Lord Tywin turned around again. "They have my son!" In a voice that cut through thin air. "Get out. All of you."

Ever the obedient and faithful son, Tyrion rose to depart with the others, but his father gave him a look. "Not you, Tyrion. Remain. And you as well, Kevan. The rest of you, out."

Tyrion eased himself back onto the bench near his father, startled into speechlessness. He reached for a wine cup, but was shocked when his father offered his own untouched cup.

Now Tyrion truly was nonplussed. He drank.

Lord Tywin seated himself. "You were right about Eddard Stark. Alive, we might have used Lord Stark to forge a peace with Winterfell and Riverrun, a peace that would have given us the time we need to deal with Robert's brothers. Now, there is madness everywhere. Rank madness across the realm."

"I feel King Robert should have stayed a lot longer in this world, especially in times like these. Joff is not exactly…the best shaped ruler. He is only a boy after all, though sometimes I think he's a monster. You would not like how your grandson has been shaped to be by his mother. Joffrey needs to be guided or else he will become worse than Aerys. If Robert had only paid more attention to his own son than his whores…"

"You speak of your nephew, Tyrion," Tywin said. "At least he did not marry a whore."

Tyrion sipped at his wine, wondering how Lord Tywin would look if he flung the cup in his face.

"Our position is worse than you know," his father went on. "It would seem we have new king."

Ser Kevan was confused. ""A new…who? What have they done to Joffrey?"

The faintest flicker of distaste played across Lord Tywin's thin lips. "Nothing... yet. My grandson still sits the Iron Throne, but the eunuch has heard whispers from the south. Renly Baratheon wed Margaery Tyrell at Highgarden this fortnight past, and now he has claimed the crown. The bride's father and brothers have bent the knee and sworn him their swords."

"Those are grave tidings." When Ser Kevan frowned, the furrows in his brow grew deep as canyons.

"My daughter commands us to ride for King's Landing at once, to defend the Red Keep against King Renly and the Knight of Flowers." His mouth tightened. "_Commands us_, mind you. In the name of the king and council."

"How is King Joffrey taking the news?" Tyrion asked.

"Cersei has not seen fit to tell him yet," Lord Tywin said. "She fears he might insist on marching against Renly himself."

"With what army?" Tyrion asked. "You don't plan to give him this one, I hope?"

"He talks of leading the City Watch," Lord Tywin said.

"If he takes the Watch, he'll leave the city undefended," Ser Kevan said. "And with Lord Stannis on Dragonstone..."

"Yes." Lord Tywin looked down at his son. "I had thought you were the one made for motley, Tyrion, but it would appear that I was wrong."

"Why, Father," said Tyrion, "that almost sounds like praise." He leaned forward intently.

"What of Stannis? He's the elder, not Renly. How does he feel about his brother's claim?"

His father frowned. "I have always felt from the beginning that Stannis was a greater danger than all the others combined. Yet he does nothing. Oh, Varys hears his whispers. Stannis is building ships, Stannis is hiring sellswords, and Stannis is bringing a shadowbinder from Asshai. What does it mean? Is any of it true?" He gave an irritated shrug.

"Believe it or not, it is neither Stannis nor Renly that concerns me at this time. Some other news arrived with the letter from King's Landing that I did not incline to tell the others in this time."

Tywin sipped on his wine and said in a grave voice. "It seems like the death of Eddard Stark will haunt us to our graves for more than this war."

"What do you mean, Tywin?" His uncle asked.

His father sighed deeply and his face – if Tyrion had not been watching his father closely, he would have refused to believe it – softened into something almost credible to muted fear.

"Joffrey was supposed to spare Lord Eddard after he made his confession to the people of the capitol in the Great Sept of Baelor. Instead, Stark denounced Joffrey as the true king, saying he was a bastard born of incest."

Tyrion was stunned. Of course, he knew that what Lord Stark said what true. He had known for a long time, but had not shared his knowledge with anyone including his siblings. He could have used it as blackmail against his sweet sister, but he would not for she was family and of his blood. He was surprised that Stark had had the courage to make that proclamation when the life of his daughters were at hand.

_Stark would not have done it if he had been assured of his daughter's safety, _Tyrion thought, _someone else's hand is at play._

"Preposterous." Ser Kevan said.

"It does not end there. He also said that Robert's brothers were usurpers and false claimants to the Iron Throne – that they were ill-suited," Tywin stared in Tyrion's mismatched eyes, which caused the dwarf to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"He then said that his bastard son, Jon Snow, was the rightful King on the Iron Throne, and that he was the boy's uncle. His true father was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen; through a polygamous marriage with Lady Lyanna Stark and that Jon was the heir through the old dynasty."

As Tyrion's mouth dropped, his mind could not even begin to process words. Identify the feeling he was experiencing proved to be challenging as he almost dropped the half-empty goblet. Shock, anger, sadness, excitement, disappointment? He felt himself a fool for not having connected all the clues and dots that was now becoming so clear for him. He would have slapped himself if he could even register the action.

Ser Kevan was discomposed. "Did you just say…Rhaegar Targaryen…how in Seven Hells is that possible? Rhaegar's children died in the Red Keep by…Ser Gregor and Ser Amory Lorch. This cannot be true."

_Lyanna always talked about Jon during our travels to the Wall. By the gods, it makes sense. When she wanted to see Maester Aemon…_

Tywin himself seemed…disquieted. He had never seen his father like this. His father gestured to him. "Tyrion, Cersei wrote to me from Winterfell that you had struck up a friendship with the boy. You seemed to be quite fond of him. Tell me about him."

_Of course Cersei would write to father about that. It's not like she has better things to do. _

"Jon…is a good person," Tyrion struggled to answer. "He is exceptionally literate and shares my fondness for historical texts and books. He is very smart and knows much about war strategies through reading and map gazing. He shares his…uncle… sense of honour and justice and is in many ways a Stark, though he is a lot more flexible and is willing to do whatever it takes."

To himself, it seemed like he was praising Jon.

"Does he share any features or characteristics similar to his father? Or does he look more like his mother?" Tywin asked.

"Jon shares more of the Stark appearance," Tyrion explained carefully. "He has dark brown hair and a long face, as well as lean but fast, agile and strong build. His eye color however is the color of dark lilac purple, and his facial features are more elegant and pronounced than Lyanna's. From what I saw from the yards, Jon is a very skilled warrior and deadly with a sword, but I was sure Jaime could have beaten him."

"I see," Tywin looked at Kevan. "I was hoping we could have put this to rest. If this boy had looked like a Stark, we could have commanded the eunuch to preach the tale of Eddard Stark's lies and traitorous thoughts through his network. Instead, we have another Targaryen close to home, the son of the man I had hoped to marry of to my daughter, which could severely jeopardize my grandson's claim to the throne. If that is not bad enough, the people of the capitol want Joffrey's head as an ornament."

_Already Joff? Not even Aerys had started that bad. I wonder if he was trying to prove something on purpose. _Tyrion was glad that finally people would start to see who his nephew really was. If only Tommen had been born the elder.

His uncle still looked unconvinced. Tyrion stepped in on his behalf. "Uncle," Tyrion said. "Prince Rhaegar ran off with Lyanna a year after the Tourney of Harrenhal and they were gone for a full eight months, enough time to conceive a child."

His uncle still looked pole-axed, but he was slowly beginning to understand.

"Ser Gerold, Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell," Kevan whispered.

Tyrion smiled. "Three of the Kingsguard to guard Lyanna? I do not think so. To guard the future heir to the Iron Throne after the death of Rhaegar's children. Wouldn't they have been with Viserys at Dragonstone on a ship? They could have sneaked away in disguise. They were guarding their king."

His father nodded. "That is why we must finish our business with the Stark's before they realize the opportunity they have been given and crown Jon Targaryen," It sounded strange to Tyrion. "-as king of the Seven Kingdoms. We could lose the allies of the Martells – who have always despised us – and the Arryns, who are related to Robb Stark and Cateyln Tully. I doubt the Martells will join Jon Targaryen – he is an insult to Elia Martell and her children."

"Oh I do not know father," Tyrion said. "Would they support the family that ordered the murder of his sister and her children, or the boy who is a slight on the Martell honor?"

Tywin gave him a hard look.

"Kevan, bring us the map."

Ser Kevan did as he was bid. Lord Tywin unrolled the leather, smoothing it flat. "Jaime has left us in a bad way. Roose Bolton and the remnants of his host are north of us. Our enemies hold the Twins and Moat Cailin. Robb Stark sits to the west, so we cannot retreat to Lannisport and the Rock unless we choose to give battle. Jaime is taken, and his army for all purposes has ceased to exist. Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion continue to plague our foraging parties. To our east we have the Arryns, Stannis Baratheon sits on Dragonstone, and in the south Highgarden and Storm's End are calling their banners."

Tyrion smiled crookedly. "Take heart, Father. At least Rhaegar Targaryen is still dead."

"I had hoped you might have more to offer us than japes, Tyrion," Lord Tywin Lannister said.

"Rhaegar's son is still alive," Tyrion reminded. "The ghost of our enemies is incarnated into the modern day."

Ser Kevan frowned over the map, forehead creasing. "Robb Stark will have Edmure Tully and the lords of the Trident with him now. Their combined power may exceed our own. And with Roose Bolton behind us... Tywin, if we remain here, I fear we might be caught between three armies."

"I have no intention of remaining here. We must finish our business with young Lord Stark and Jon Targaryen before Renly Baratheon can march from Highgarden. Bolton does not concern me. He is a wary man, and we made him warier on the Green Fork. He will be slow to give pursuit. So…on the morrow, we make for Harrenhal. Kevan, I want Ser Addam's outriders to screen our movements. Give him as many men as he requires, and send them out in groups of four. I will have no vanishings."

"As you say, my lord, but... why Harrenhal? That is a grim, unlucky place. Some call it cursed."

"Let them," Lord Tywin said. "Unleash Ser Gregor and send him before us with his reavers. Send forth Vargo Hoat and his free riders as well, and Ser Amory Lorch. Each is to have three hundred horses. Tell them I want to see the Riverlands afire from the Gods Eye to the Red Fork."

"They will burn, my lord," Ser Kevan said, rising. "I shall give the commands." He then muttered. "Targaryens and Starks. Ice and Fire. God's save us all."

He bowed and made for the door.

When they were alone, Lord Tywin glanced at Tyrion. "Your savages might relish a bit of rapine. Tell them they may ride with Vargo Hoat and plunder as they like-goods, stock, women, they may take what they want and burn the rest."

"Telling Shagga and Timett how to pillage is like telling a rooster how to crow," Tyrion commented, "but I should prefer to keep them with me."

Uncouth and unruly they might be, yet the wildlings were his, and he trusted them more than any of his father's men. He was not about to hand them over.

"Then you had best learn to control them. I will not have the city plundered."

"The city?" Tyrion was lost. "What city would that be?"

"King's Landing. I am sending you to court."

It was the last thing Tyrion Lannister would ever have anticipated.

He reached for his wine, and considered for a moment as he sipped. "And what am I to do there?"

"Rule," his father said curtly

Tyrion hooted with laughter. "My sweet sister might have a word or two to say about that!"

"Let her say what she likes. Her son needs to be taken in hand before he ruins us all. I blame those jack lopes on the council- our friend Petyr Baelish, the venerable Grand Maester, and that ball-less wonder Lord Varys. What sort of counsel are they giving Joffrey when he lurches from one folly to the next?"

"Whose notion was it to make this Janos Slynt a lord? The man's father was a butcher, and they grant him Harrenhal. Harrenhal, which was the seat of kings! Not that he will ever set foot inside it, if I have a say. I am told he took a bloody spear for his sigil. A bloody cleaver would have been my choice."

"We need to settle things in the capitol before making a serious move. The news of Jon Targaryen has spread across Westeros like an infestation of rats. You know him Tyrion. Use that to your advantage."

His father had not raised his voice, yet Tyrion could see the anger in the gold of his eyes.

"And dismissing Selmy, where was the sense in that? Yes, the man was old, but the name of Barristan the Bold still has meaning in the realm. He lent honor to any man he served. He will probably be off to Riverrun as we speak. Can anyone say the same of the Hound? You feed your dog bones under the table; you do not seat him beside you on the high bench." He pointed a finger at Tyrion's face. "If Cersei cannot curb the boy, you must. And if these councilors are playing us false..."

Tyrion knew. "Heads, Spikes, Walls."

"I see you have taken a few lessons from me."

"More than you know, Father," Tyrion answered quietly. He finished his wine and set the cup aside, thoughtful. A part of him was more pleased than he cared to admit. Another part was remembering the battle upriver, and wondering if he was being sent to hold the left again.

"Why me?" he asked, cocking his head to one side. "Why not my uncle? Why not Ser Addam or Ser Flement or Lord Serrett? Why not anybody?"

Lord Tywin rose abruptly. "You are my son."

The shards of the broken cup crunched beneath his father's heels as Lord Tywin crossed the room.

"One last thing," he said at the door. "You will not take the whore to court."

Tyrion sat alone in the common room for a long time after his father was gone. Finally he climbed the steps to his cosy garret beneath the bell tower. The ceiling was low, but that was scarcely a drawback for a dwarf. From the window, he could see the gibbet his father had erected in the yard.

Shae murmured sleepily and rolled toward him when he sat on the edge of the featherbed. He slid his hand under the blanket and cupped a soft breast, and her eyes opened. "M'lord," she said with a drowsy smile.

When he felt her nipple stiffen, Tyrion kissed her. "I have a mind to take you to King's Landing, Sweetling," he whispered. He prayed he could fix this mess they were all in before it was too late.

**Cateyln **

She remembered the first time she had seen her father after ten years.

_They climbed the spiral stair in silence._

_The keep was three-sided, like Riverrun itself, and Lord Hoster's solar was triangular as well, with a stone balcony that jutted out to the east like the prow of some great sandstone ship. From there the lord of the castle could look down on his walls and battlements, and beyond, to where the waters met. They had moved her father's bed out onto the balcony. _

_"He likes to sit in the sun and watch the rivers," Edmure explained. "Father, see who I've brought. Cat has come to see you... "_

_Hoster Tully had always been a big man; tall and broad in his youth, portly as he grew older. Now he seemed shrunken, the muscle and meat melted off his bones. Even his face sagged. The last time Catelyn had seen him, his hair and beard had been brown, well streaked with grey. Now they had gone white as snow._

_His eyes opened to the sound of Edmure's voice. "Little cat," he murmured in a voice thin and wispy and wracked by pain. "My little cat," A tremendous smile touched his face as his hand groped for hers. "I watched for you..."_

_"I shall leave you to talk," her brother said, kissing their lord father gently on the brow before he withdrew._

_Catelyn knelt and took her father's hand in hers. It was a big hand, but fleshless now, the bones moving loosely under the skin, all the strength gone from it. "You should have told me," she said. "A rider, a raven..."_

_"Riders are taken, questioned," he answered. "Ravens are brought down..." A spasm of pain took him, and his fingers clutched hers hard. "The crabs are in my belly... pinching, always pinching. Day and night. They have fierce claws, the crabs. Maester Vyman makes me dream wine, milk of the poppy... I sleep a lot... but I wanted to be awake to see you, when you came. I was afraid... when the Lannisters took your brother, the camps all around us... was afraid I would go, before I could see you again... I was afraid..."_

_"I'm here, Father," she said. "With Robb, my son. He'll want to see you too."_

_"Your boy," he whispered. "He had my eyes, I remember."_

_"He did, and does. And we've brought you Jaime Lannister, in irons. Riverrun is free again, Father."_

_Lord Hoster smiled. "I saw. Last night, when it began, I told them... had to see. They carried me to the gatehouse... watched from the battlements. Ah, that was beautiful... the torches came in a wave, I could hear the cries floating across the sweet river... when that siege tower went up, gods... would have died then, and glad, if only I could have seen you children first. Was it your boy who did it? Was it your Robb?"_

_"Yes," Catelyn said, fiercely proud. "It was Robb who commanded the attack and Jon my husband's natural son who captured him ... and Brynden. Your brother is here as well, my lord."_

_"Him." Her father's voice was a faint whisper. "The Blackfish... came back? From the Vale?"_

_"Yes..."_

_"And Lysa?" A cool wind moved through his thin white hair. "Gods be good, your sister... did she come as well?"_

_He sounded so full of hope and yearning that it was hard to tell the truth. "No. I'm sorry..."_

_"Oh." His face fell, and some light went out of his eyes. "I'd hoped I would have liked to see her, before."_

_"She's with her son, in the Eyrie."_

_Lord Hoster gave a weary nod. "Lord Robert now, poor Arryn's gone... I remember... why did she not come with you?"_

_"She is frightened, my lord. In the Eyrie she feels safe." She kissed his wrinkled brow. "Robb will be waiting. Will you see him? And Brynden?"_

_"Your son," he whispered. "Yes. Cat's child... he had my eyes, I remember. When he was born. Bring him... yes."_

_"And your brother?"_

_Her father glanced out over the rivers. "Blackfish," he said. "Has he wed yet? Taken some... girl to wife?"_

_Even on his deathbed, Catelyn thought sadly. "He has not wed. You know that, Father. Nor will him ever."_

_"I told him... commanded him. Marry! I was his lord. He knows. My right, to make his match. A good match. A Redwyne. Old House. Sweet girl, pretty... freckles... Bethany, yes. Poor child. Still waiting. Yes. Still..."_

_"Bethany Redwyne wed Lord Rowan years ago," Catelyn reminded him. "She has three children by him."_

_"Even so," Lord Hoster muttered. "Even so. Spit on the girl. The Redwynes. Spit on me. His lord, his brother... that Blackfish. I had other offers. Lord Bracken's girl. Walder Frey... any of three, he said... Has he wed? Anyone? Anyone?"_

_"No one," Catelyn said, "yet he has come many leagues to see you, fighting his way back to Riverrun. I would not be here now, if Ser Brynden had not helped us."_

_"He was ever a warrior," her father husked. "That he could do. Knight of the Gate, yes." He leaned back and closed his eyes, unutterably weary. "Send him. Later. I'll sleep now. Too sick to fight. Send him up later, the Blackfish..."_

_Catelyn kissed him gently, smoothed his hair, and left him there in the shade of his keep, with his rivers flowing beneath. He was asleep before she left the solar._

* * *

News of Ned's death had reached had reached them in the early hours of the new morning, and it had hit everyone she knew or loved hard. Cateyln herself was numb, numb to the pain, the grief and the sympathies and condolences given the northern and river lord bannerman, and even her own father. She would never see Ned, never would feel his arms around her, never feel him inside her or the love he bore for her alone. What a fool she had been. It was her fault her husband was dead. Her own damn fault.

_Ned would not want me to be like this. _Cateyln realised. _You must stay strong for Robb, and for Jon, oh gods._

Theon Greyjoy was seated on a bench in Riverrun's Great Hall, enjoying a horn of ale and regaling her father's garrison with an account of the slaughter in the Whispering Wood. "Some tried to flee, but we'd pinched the valley shut at both ends, and we rode out of the darkness with sword and lance. The Lannisters must have thought the Others themselves were on them when that wolf of Robb's got in among them. I saw him tear one man's arm from his shoulder, and their horses went mad at the scent of him. I couldn't tell you how many men were thrown-"

"Theon," she interrupted, "where might I find my son and…nephew."

Theon looked back at the bannerman with an uneasy, tense look as they bowed their heads. All of Riverrun now knew Jon was Rhaegar's and Lyanna's son, and a lot of them were taking it in different ways. Her father had been in disbelief, saying it was not possible. He had then coughed continuously, and then swore he would put all of Riverrun behind Cateyln's nephew if need be.

"Lord Robb and…Lord Jon… went to visit the godswood, my lady..."

It was what Ned would have done. Robb was as much as his father's son as much as mine, I must remember. Jon lived by the godswood himself, always strong in his faith as his uncle. Oh, gods, Ned...

She found Robb beneath the green canopy of leaves, surrounded by tall redwoods and great old elms, kneeling before the heart tree, a slender weirwood with a face more sad than fierce. His longsword was before him, the point thrust in the earth, his gloved hands clasped around the hilt.

Around him others knelt: Jon with a blank and quiet face, Lyanna with red stricken eyes, Greatjon Umber, Rickard Karstark, Torrhen Karstark, Maege Mormont, Galbart Glover, and more. Even Tytos Blackwood was among them, the great raven cloak fanned out behind him. These are the ones who keep the old gods, she realized. She asked herself what gods she kept these days, and could not find an answer.

It would not do to disturb them at their prayers. The gods must have their due... even cruel gods who would take Ned from her and her lord father as well. So Catelyn waited.

* * *

The river wind moved through the high branches, and she could see the Wheel Tower to her right, ivy crawling up its side. As she stood there, all the memories came flooding back to her. Her father had taught her to ride amongst these trees, and that was the elm that Edmure had fallen from when he broke his arm, and over there, beneath that bower, she and Lysa had played at kissing with Petyr.

_She had not thought of that in years. How young they all had been-she no older than Sansa, Lysa younger than Arya, and Petyr younger still, yet eager. The girls had traded him between them, serious and giggling by turns._

_ It came back to her so vividly she could almost feel his sweaty fingers on her shoulders and taste the mint on his breath._

_ There was always mint growing in the godswood, and Petyr had liked to chew it. He had been such a bold little boy, always in trouble._

_"He tried to put his tongue in my mouth," Catelyn had confessed to her sister afterward, when they were alone._

_"He did with me too," Lysa had whispered, shy and breathless. "I liked it."_

She wondered where Petyr had been when her husband had died.

Robb got to his feet slowly and sheathed his sword, and Catelyn found herself wondering whether her son had ever kissed a girl in the godswood. Surely he must have. She had seen Jeyne Poole giving him moist-eyed glances, and some of the serving girls, even ones as old as eighteen... he had ridden in battle and killed men with a sword, surely he had been kissed. There were tears in her eyes. She wiped them away angrily. She had to be strong.

The others slowly followed.

"My lady." It was the response all the lords gave when they stood up one by one after her son. Lyanna stood up tall and tapped at her waist with her fingers. _I had not even though of how Lyanna must be taking this. Her own brother. She is the last of Rickard Stark's children if Benjen is dead. _

Jon was last, though he would look at her. Cateyln stared at the scars ridden across his face. It would be permanent as they all feared, but at least he had not died. Cateyln watched her nephew and wondered if _he had _been kissed before. She was certain, or was she? Jon was a very handsome boy, and many servant girls and even some noblewoman were known to look at him more often than thrice times with infatuation.

"Mother," Robb said when he saw her standing there. "We must call a council. There are things to be decided."

"Your grandfather would like to see you," she said. "Robb, he's very sick."

"Ser Edmure told me. I am sorry, Mother... for Lord Hoster and for you. Yet first we must meet. We've had word from the south. Renly Baratheon has claimed his brother's crown."

"Renly?" she said, shocked. "I had thought, surely it would be Lord Stannis..."

"Renly was always the bold one," Lyanna said. "Stannis could not have known."

"Then Stannis is the rightful heir, since Joffrey and his siblings are bastards." She almost spat that monster's name.

"As did we all, my lady," Galbart Glover said. He cast a sideways glance at Jon, who did not seem to comprehend Robb's or her words. In fact, he looked like he was in his own mind. Cateyln knew that Ned's proclamation of Jon had been the final straw. They know all believed, and most were either in awe or respectful of his presence. Some were even afraid.

It was when Robb had dismissed all except for Catelyn, Lyanna and Jon from the weirwood tree area when her son let out his true emotions. He turned to look at her fully, and Cateyln could see his red eyes, still crying as he rushed in her outstretched arms.

"I'll kill them all," Robb swore. "Every last one of them." He said on her shoulder.

"We must be patient Robb," Cateyln whispered in his ears as he comforted her son. "We have to get the girl's back. And then, we will kill them all."

"That is not good enough." Jon said, breaking his own silence. He looked up at the bewildered Cateyln and then repeated angrily, "That is not good enough!"

"Jon." Lyanna said, putting a hand on her son's shoulder. Jon relaxed a little at his mother's touch, but his dark lilac eyes still contained naked fury. She could see the fire blazing in them like in the old stories. Her son had told her what happened in Winterfell.

Jon raised the hood of his heavy. "I am going to ride for King's Landing and kill that son of a bitch myself. I will skewer Joffrey's head from him neck and ride down his mother and kill his cunt of a grandfather when I am done with all of them."

"How, Jon," Lyanna said, not with any anger but impatience. "Do not be rash and stupid. That is not like you. With what army? We cannot march for King's Landing even if we wanted too."

"Did you not hear me?" Jon said furiously, though Cateyln could see the broken tears. "_I am going to ride to King's Landing and kill-"_

Robb released himself off her and slapped Jon across the cheek, hard. Jon stepped back, more surprised than hurt. He looked at Robb incredulously.

"What the hell, Jon. Listen to yourself. Do you think I do not want the same thing as well? _He was my father. _I want to desecrate Joffrey's corpse and castrate him alive, feeding him to our wolves. We have to think logically, or else all is lost. How come I am the one who is lecturing you? When did the roles change?"

Jon bowed his head, ashamed. He then began to cry, and Lyanna slung an arm around her son's shoulder and pulled him close to her chest, putting her son's head under her chin. "Shush, Jon. It is going to be alright."

Cateyln and Robb had given the mother and son time alone after that. Cateyln felt Jon needed to talk with his mother, and Lyanna shot them a look of appreciation.

* * *

The war council convened in the Great Hall, at four long trestle tables arranged in a broken square. Lord Hoster was too weak to attend, asleep on his balcony, dreaming of the sun on the rivers of his youth. Edmure sat in the high seat of the Tullys, with Brynden Blackfish at his side, and his father's bannermen arrayed to right and left and along the side tables. Word of the victory at Riverrun had spread to the fugitive lords of the Trident, drawing them back. Karyl Vance came in, a lord now, his father dead beneath the Golden Tooth. Ser Marq Piper was with him, and they brought a Darry, Ser Raymun's son, a lad no older than Bran. Lord Jonos Bracken arrived from the ruins of Stone Hedge, glowering and blustering, and took a seat as far from Tytos Blackwood as the tables would permit.

The northern lords sat opposite, with Catelyn and Robb facing her brother across the tables. They were fewer. The Greatjon sat at Robb's left hand with Jon next to him. Greatjon was talking with Jon profusely, not letting anyone near Jon while he chatted. Jon seemed happier than he had when she had last saw him, and his mother often looked upon him with pride evident in her eyes.

Lyanna, then Theon Greyjoy; Galbart Glover and Lady Mormont were to the right of Catelyn. Lord Rickard Karstark, gaunt and hollow-eyed in his grief, took his seat like a man in a nightmare, his long beard uncombed and unwashed. Torrhen sat with him sharing his grief. He had left a son dead in the Whispering Wood, and there was no word of the third, his eldest, who had led the Karstark spears against Tywin Lannister on the Green Fork.

All these lords entered the room, and as they came in they gave Jon uneasy, cautious and curious looks. It seemed to Cateyln that they liked what they saw, especially the river lords. Lord Tytos Blackwood and Stevron Frey Cateyln had seen sharing words with Jon in private beforehand.

The arguing raged on late into the night. Each lord had a right to speak, and speak they did... and shout, and curse, and reason, and cajole, and jest, and bargain, and slam tankards on the table, and threaten, and walk out, and return sullen or smiling. Catelyn sat and listened to it all.

Roose Bolton had re-formed the battered remnants of their other host at the mouth of the causeway. Ser Helman Tallhart and Walder Frey still held the Twins. Lord Tywin's army had crossed the Trident, and was making for Harrenhal. And there were two kings in the realm. Two kings and no agreement.

Many of the lord's bannermen wanted to march on Harrenhal at once, to meet Lord Tywin and end Lannister power for all time. Young, hot-tempered Marq Piper urged a strike west at Casterly Rock instead.

Still others counselled patience. Riverrun sat athwart the Lannister supply lines, Jason Mallister pointed out; let them bide their time, denying Lord Tywin fresh levies and provisions while they strengthened their defences and rested their weary troops.

Lord Blackwood would have none of it. They should finish the work they began in the Whispering Wood. March to Harrenhal and bring Roose Bolton's army down as well.

What Blackwood urged, Bracken opposed, as ever; Lord Jonos Bracken rose to insist they ought pledge their fealty to King Renly, and move south to join their might to his.

"Renly is not the king," Robb said. It was the first time her son had spoken. Like his father, he knew how to listen.

"You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord," Galbart Glover said. "He put your father to death."

"I will never bend to that bastard born of incest," Robb spat. "Him, his brother and sister. Renly is Robert's younger brother. Bran cannot be Lord of Winterfell before me, and Renly can't be king before Lord Stannis."

Lady Mormont agreed. "Lord Stannis has the better claim."

"Renly is crowned," said Marq Piper. "Highgarden and Storm's End support his claim, and the Dornishmen will not be haggardly. If Winterfell and Riverrun add their strength to his, he will have five of the seven great houses behind him. Six, if the Arryns bestir themselves! Six against the Rock! My lords, within the year, we will have all their heads on pikes, the queen and the boy king, Lord Tywin, the Imp, the Kingslayer, Ser Kevan, all of them! That is what we shall win if we join with King Renly. What does Lord Stannis have against that, that we should cast it all aside?"

Robb did not answer. He looked at Jon with troubled eyes, as if weighting something in his conscious. Catelyn thought he sounded eerily like his father as he said it. Jon himself only watched the proceedings in silence. Indeed, several lords looked upon him from time to time. Cateyln hoped they were not thinking what she thought they were thinking. Jon could have pressed his claim, but he was content to be silent.

Cateyln wished she knew what he was thinking. Ghost gave no indication as he lay at his companion's feet watching with caution with his red, blood eyes.

"Do you know what Jon is thinking, Lyanna?" Cateyln whispered.

"I truly do not know," Lyanna answered. "He always has a way of hiding his thoughts from the visible world. He takes that after Rhaegar and his uncle, never betraying his emotions and keeping to himself. He was like that at Winterfell as well."

Cateyln agreed with that assessment

"So you mean us to declare for Stannis?" asked Edmure.

"I don't know," said Robb. "I prayed to know what to do and it seems the only right thing gives me worry. The Lannisters killed my father for a traitor, and we know that was a lie, but if Joffrey is the lawful king on the Iron Throne and even if he has no true claim, we are traitors under the throne."

Grey Wind prowled the hall, showing off Robb's concern, anger and frustration. Cateyln knew Robb was thinking of Jon as he spoke.

"My lord father would urge caution," aged Ser Stevron said, with the weasel smile of a Frey. "Wait; let these two kings play their game of thrones. When they are done fighting, we can bend our knees to the victor, or oppose him, as we choose. With Renly arming, likely Lord Tywin would welcome a truce... and the safe return of his son. Noble lords, allow me to go to him at Harrenhal and arrange good terms and ransoms..."

A roar of outrage drowned out his voice. "Craven!" the Greatjon thundered.

"Begging for a truce will make us seem weak," declared Lady Mormont. "

Ransoms be damned, we must not give up the Kingslayer," shouted Rickard Karstark.

"Why not a peace?" Catelyn asked.

The lords looked at her, but it was Robb's eyes she felt, his and his alone.

"My lady, they murdered my lord father, your husband," he said grimly. He unsheathed his longsword and laid it on the table before him, the bright steel on the rough wood. "This is the only peace I have for Lannisters."

The Greatjon bellowed his approval, and other men added their voices, shouting and drawing swords and pounding their fists on the table.

Catelyn waited until they had quieted.

"My lords," she said then, "Lord Eddard was your liege, but I shared his bed and bore his children. Do you think I love him any less than you?" Her voice almost broke with her grief, but Catelyn took a long breath and steadied herself.

"Robb, if that sword could bring him back, I should never let you sheathe it until Ned stood at my side once more... but he is gone, and hundred Whispering Woods will not change that. Ned is gone, and Daryn Hornwood, and Lord Karstark's valiant son, and many other good men besides, and none of them will return to us. Must we have more deaths still?"

"You are a woman, my lady," the Greatjon rumbled in his deep voice. "Women do not understand these things."

"You are the gentle gender," said Lord Karstark, with the lines of grief fresh on his face. "A man has a need for vengeance."

"Give me Cersei Lannister, Lord Karstark, and you would see how gentle a woman can be," Catelyn replied. "Perhaps I do not understand tactics and strategy... but I understand futility. We went to war when Lannister armies were ravaging the Riverlands, and Ned was a prisoner, falsely accused of treason. We fought to defend ourselves, and to win my lord's freedom.

"Well, the one is done, and the other forever beyond our reach. I will mourn for Ned until the end of my days, but I must think of the living. I want my daughters back, and the queen holds them still. If I must trade our four Lannisters for their two Starks, I will call that a bargain and thank the gods. I want you safe, Robb, ruling at Winterfell from your father's seat. I want you to live your life, to kiss a girl and wed a woman and father a son. I want to write an end to this. I want to go home, my lords, and weep for my husband."

The hall was very quiet when Catelyn finished speaking.

"Peace," said her uncle Brynden. "Peace is sweet, my lady... but on what terms? It is no good hammering your sword into a plough-share if you must forge it again on the morrow."

"What my Eddard die for, if I am to return to Karhold with nothing but their bones?" asked Rickard Karstark.

"No peace!" shouted Torrhen.

"I will never had peace when the Kingslayer murdered by son!" spat Lord Mallister.

"Aye," said Lord Bracken. "Gregor Clegane laid waste to my fields, slaughtered my smallfolk, and left Stone Hedge a smoking ruin. Am I now to bend the knee to the ones who sent him? What have we fought for, if we are to put all back as it was before?"

Lord Blackwood agreed, to Catelyn's surprise and dismay. "And if we do make peace with King Joffrey, are we not then traitors to King Renly? What if the stag should prevail against the lion where would that leave us?"

"Whatever you may decide for yourselves, I shall never call a Lannister bastard my king," declared Marq Piper.

"Nor I" yelled the little Darry boy. "I never will!"

Again the shouting began. Catelyn sat despairing. She had come so close, she thought. They had almost listened, almost... but the moment was gone. There would be no peace, no chance to heal, no safety.

She looked at her son, watched him as he listened to the lord's debate, frowning, troubled, yet wedded to his war. He had pledged himself to marry a daughter of Walder Frey, but she saw his true bride plain before her now: the sword he had laid on the table. Robb looked at Jon once more, and breathed in and out. Other lords noticed, but they did not understand.

Her nephew was scratching his direwolf behind its ear, quietly muttering to Greatjon some Cateyln could not hear. Lord Umber's eyes suddenly widened in complete surprise as Jon said something, as if he had suddenly remembered something extremely important. He looked wildly at Jon with shining dark eyes and was grinning like a fool.

Catelyn was thinking of her girls, wondering if she would ever see them again, when the Greatjon lurched to his feet.

"My lords, MY LORDS!" he shouted, his voice booming off the rafters. "Here is what I say to these two would be kings!"

He spat at the floor, drawing laughter from lords. Jon smiled and Robb could not help but grin.

"Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither. Why should they rule over me and mine, from some flowery seat in Highgarden or Dorne? What do they know of the Wall or the wolfswood or the barrows of the First Men? Even their gods are wrong. The others take the Lannisters too; I've had a bellyful of them." He reached back over his shoulder and drew his immense two-handed greatsword.

"It was the dragons we married to, and from that union was born the greatest ruler The Seven Kingdoms will ever see. A king born of the north and the south, with a perfect and strong claim to the Iron Throne from the old dynasty. A king who sits before us today in plain view! A dragon born with the blood of the First Men! A King who will protect and govern this land as if it were his own daughter." He pointed his sword at Jon.

"There sits the only king I mean to bow my knee to, m'lords. The one true king of Westeros. If I have to go to war to see him seated on that bloody barbed throne, then so be it." he thundered. "The Dragon King!"

And he knelt, laying his sword at her nephew's feet.

Robb instantly stood with his longsword. He knelt down in Jon's direction and looked up through his auburn hair. "Am I your brother, now and always?"

Jon smiled. "Now and always."

Robb placed his sword at Jon's feet. "My sword is yours, in victory and defeat. Here stands the one true king," Robb said. "I, Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, pledge my undying allegiance to King Jon Targaryen, the First of His Name. To the end of time."

Robb yelled. "The Dragon King!"

Theon was next. "Jon, you and Robb are like my brothers. I am your man no matter what happens. You are the true king and our saviour,." He knelt. "The Dragon King!"

"I'll have peace on those terms," Lord Rickard said. "They can keep their southern style. Here comes a king who will truly understand what it means to be a ruler." He eased his sword from his scabbard. "THE KING OF THE DRAGONS!"

Cateyln watched her nephew rise slowly, who was watching every flutter of movement with utter amazement.

Maege Mormont stood. "The White Dragon!" she declared, and laid her spiked mace beside the swords.

Edmure stood from the high seat of House Tully and released his sword, walking down towards Jon. "House Tully supports the true king of the Seven Kingdoms till the end of time and beyond if need be." He knelt beside Robb and placed his sword down. "THE KING OF THE DRAGONS!"

Her uncle was next. "You are my king Jon, now and always. I shall be your knight if you would have me." He placed his sword with the clutter. "THE DRAGON KING!"

And the river lords were raising themselves too, Blackwood and Bracken and Mallister and Frey, houses who had never been ruled from the North, yet Catelyn watched them rise and draw their blades, bending their knees and swearing fealty to Jon of House Targaryen.

Jon looked at Lyanna, who nodded slowly in encouragement and proudness. He glanced at Cateyln, who beamed at him. Cateyln heard the words that rung the timbers of her father's hall. Not even Rhaegar or any Targaryen king had this much fair from the men of Westeros.

"Long live King Jon, the First of his Name." The men and woman shouted. She found herself bellowing with them.

Not since Daemon Blackfyre would any man follow their king into the depths of the seven hells and back. Grey Wind began to growl, and to Cateyln's upmost surprise, Ghost followed his brother.

"The King of the Dragons!"

"The Red Wolf!"

"Long live King Jon!"

"The White Dragon!"

"The King of the Dragons!"

"THE KING OF THE DRAGONS!" they all said in unison.

**Arya **

Her head felt lumpy when she touched it. When Yoren had dragged her into that alley after she had come back with Barristan, she'd thought he meant to kill her, but the sour old man had only held her tight, sawing through her mats and tangles with his dagger. She remembered how the breeze sent the fistfuls of dirty brown hair skittering across the paving stones, toward the sept where her father had died. "I'm taking men and boys from the city," Yoren growled as the sharp steel scraped at her head. "Now you hold still, boy." By the time he had finished, her scalp was nothing but tufts and stubble.

Afterward he told her that from there to Riverrun she'd be Arry the orphan boy. "Gate shouldn't be hard, but the road's another matter. You got a long way to go in bad company. I got thirty this time, men and boys all bound for the Wall."

"Lord Eddard gave me pick o' the dungeons, and I didn't find no little lordlings down there. This lot, half o' them would turn you over to the queen quick as spit for a pardon and maybe a few silvers. The other half'd do the same, only they'd rape you first. So you keep to yourself and make your water in the woods, alone. That'll be the hardest part, the pissing, so don't drink no more'n you need."

Barristan had been surprised at her appearance, but had approved, saying it would make their travels easier.

Leaving King's Landing was easy, just like he'd said. The Lannister guardsmen on the gate were stopping everyone, but Yoren called one by name and their wagons were waved through.

No one spared Arya a glance. They were looking for a highborn girl, daughter of the King's Hand, not for a skinny boy with his hair chopped off. Even they were searching for Ser Selmy, but Arya realized that they expected that the old knight was gone to Riverrun or Dragonstone or even Highgarden.

Arya never looked back. She wished the Rush would rise and wash the whole city away, Flea Bottom and the Red Keep and the Great Sept and everything, and everyone too, especially Prince Joffrey and his mother. But she knew it wouldn't, and anyhow Sansa was still in the city and would wash away too. When she remembered that, Arya decided to wish for Riverrun instead. That's where her family were the last time she had heard.

Yoren was wrong about the pissing, though. That wasn't the hardest part at all since Ser Barristan was always there to guard her. Lommy Greenhands and Hot Pie were the hardest part. Orphan boys. Yoren had plucked some from the streets with promises of food for their bellies and shoes for their feet. The rest he'd found in chains. "The Watch needs good men," he told them as they set out, "but you lot will have to do."

Yoren had taken grown men from the dungeons as well, thieves and poachers and rapists and the like. The worst were the three he'd found in the black cells who must have scared even him, because he kept them fettered hand and foot in the back of a wagon, and vowed they'd stay in irons all the way to the Wall. One had no nose, only the hole in his face where it had been cut off, and the gross fat bald one with the pointed teeth and the weeping sores on his cheeks had eyes like nothing human.

They took five wagons out of King's Landing, laden with supplies for the Wall.

The men paid her no mind, but she was not so lucky with the boys. She was two years younger than the youngest orphan, not to mention smaller and skinnier, and Lommy and Hot Pie took her silence to mean she was scared, or stupid, or deaf.

"Look at that sword Lumpyhead's got there," Lommy said one morning as they made their plodding way past orchards and wheat fields. He'd been a dyer's apprentice before he was caught stealing, and his arms were mottled green to the elbow. When he laughed he brayed like the donkeys they were riding. "Where's a gutter rat like you doing with a sword?"

Arya chewed her lip sullenly. She could see the back of Yoren's faded black cloak up ahead of the wagons with the old knight, after she had told him to bugger off after he constantly followed her around. But she was determined not to go crying to them for help.

"Maybe he's a little squire," Hot Pie put in. His mother had been a baker before she died, and he'd pushed her cart through the streets all day, shouting "Hot pies! Hot pies!" "Some lordy lord's little squire boy, that's it."

"He isn't no squire, look at him. I bet that's not even a real sword. I bet it's just some play sword made of tin."

Arya hated them making fun of Needle. "It's castle-forged steel, you stupid," she snapped, turning in the saddle to glare at them, "and you better shut your mouth."

The orphan boys hooted. "Where'd you get a blade like that, Lumpyface?" Hot Pie wanted to know.

"Lumpyhead," corrected Lommy. "His probably stole it."

"I did not!" she shouted. Her brother – no, cousin - had given her Needle. Maybe she had to let them call her Lumpyhead, but she wasn't going to let them call Jon a thief.

"If he stole it, we could take it off him," said Hot Pie. "It's not his anyhow. I could use me a sword like that."

Lommy egged him on. "Go on, take it off him, I dare you."

Hot Pie kicked his donkey, riding closer. "Hey, Lumpyface, you give me that sword." His hair was the colour of straw, his fat face all sunburnt and peeling. "You don't know how to use it."

"Yes I do, Arya said.

She dreamt of her father that night.

"Don't fight them, Arry," Barristan said to her in the morning. "Don't let them provoke you into conflict. They do know any better."

"He's going to wet his pants," Hot Pie suggested, though nervously

"Leave him be," Gendry said, a boy with the shaggy black hair who rode behind them. Lommy had named him the Bull, on account of this horned helm he had that he polished all the time but never wore. Lommy didn't dare mock the Bull. He was older and big for his age, with a broad chest and strong-looking arms.

"You better give Hot Pie the sword, Arry," Lommy said. "Hot Pie wants it bad. He kicked a boy to death. He'll do the same to you, I bet."

"I knocked him down and I kicked him in the balls, and I kept kicking him there until he was dead," Hot Pie boasted. "I kicked him all to pieces. His balls were broke open and bloody and his cock turned black. You better give me the sword."

Arya slid her practice sword from her belt. "You can have this one," she told Hot Pie, not wanting to fight.

"That's just some stick." He rode nearer and tried to reach over for Needle's hilt.

Arya made the stick whistle as she laid the wood across his donkey's hindquarters. The animal hawed and bucked, dumping Hot Pie on the ground. She vaulted off her own donkey and poked him in the gut as he tried to get up and he sat back down with a grunt. Then she whacked him across the face and his nose made a crack like a branch breaking. Blood dribbled from his nostrils. When Hot Pie began to wail, Arya whirled toward Lommy Greenhands, who was sitting on his donkey open mouthed.

"You want some sword too?" she yelled, but he didn't. He raised dyed green hands in front of his face and squealed at her to get away.

Gendry shouted, "Behind you," and Arya spun. Hot Pie was on his knees, his fist closing around a big jagged rock. She let him throw it, ducking her head as it sailed past. Then she flew at him. He raised a hand and she hit it, and then his cheek, and then his knee. He grabbed for her, and she danced aside and bounced the wood off the back of his head. He fell down and got up and stumbled after her, his red face all smeared with dirt and blood. Arya slid into a water dancer's stance and waited. When he came close enough, she lunged, right between his legs, so hard that if her wooden sword had had a point it would have come out between his butt cheeks.

"Yes I do know how to use it," Arya screeched. "I killed a boy, a fat boy like you, I stabbed him in the belly and he died, and I'll kill you too if you don't leave me alone."

By the time Yoren pulled her off him, Hot Pie was sprawled out on the ground with his breeches brown and smelly, crying as Arya whipped him over and over and over.

"Enough," the black brother roared, prying the stick sword from her fingers, "you want to kill the fool?"

When Lommy and some others started to squeal, the old man turned on them too.

"Shut your mouths, or I'll be shutting them for you. Any more o' this, I'll tie you lot behind the wagons and drag you to the Wall." He spat. "And that goes twice for you, Arry. You come with me, boy. Now"

They were all looking at her, even the three chained and manacled in the back of the wagon. The fat one snapped his pointy teeth together and hissed, but Arya ignored him. Barristan sighed as she passed him, and Arya looked at him for help.

The old man dragged her well off the road into a tangle of trees, cursing and muttering all the while. "If I had a thimble o' sense, I would've left you in King's Landing. You hear me, boy?" He always snarled that word, putting a bite in it so she would be certain to hear. "Unlace your breeches and pull them down. Go on, there's no one here to see. Do it."

Sullenly, Arya did as he said. "Over there, against the oak. Yes, like that." She wrapped her arms around the trunk and pressed her face to the rough wood. "You scream now. You scream loud."

_I won't,_ Arya thought stubbornly, but when Yoren laid the wood against the back of her bare thighs, the shriek burst out of her anyway.

"Think that hurt?" he said. "Try this one." The stick came whistling. Arya shrieked again, clutching the tree to keep from falling. "

One more." She held on tight, chewing her lip, flinching when she heard it coming.

The stroke made her jump and howl. _I won't cry,_ she thought, _I won't do that. I'm a Stark of Winterfell, our sigil is the direwolf, direwolves don't cry._

She thought of her direwolf, poor Nymeria who had not deserved to be run off like that. If Arya could find her, ask for forgiveness.

She could feel a thin trickle of blood running down her left leg. Her thighs and cheeks were ablaze with pain.

"Might be I got your attention now," Yoren said. "Next time you take that stick to one of your brothers, you'll get twice what you give, you hear me? Now cover yourself."

_They're not my brothers,_ Arya thought as she bent to yank up her breeches, but she knew better than to say so. Her hands fumbled with her belt and laces. _My brothers are in Riverrun and Winterfell._

Yoren was looking at her. "You hurt?"

Calm as still water, she told herself, the way Syrio Forel had taught her. "Some."

He spat. "That pie boy's hurting worse. It wasn't him as killed your father, girl, nor that thieving Lommy neither. Hitting them won't bring him back."

"I know," Arya muttered sullenly.

"Here's something you don't know. It wasn't supposed to happen like it did. I was set to leave, wagons bought and loaded, and a man comes with a boy for me, and a purse of coin, and a message, never mind who it's from. Lord Eddard's to take the black, he says to me, wait; he'll be going with you. Varys paid me extra to look after you, and the Spider wants that bloody knight for that prince at Riverrun. Why you think I was there? Only something went queer."

"What happened to Scurian and Barium?" Arya asked despite herself. She remembered the two foreigners and now realised they were going to follow her cousin-brother.

"Already left for Riverrun on that day. Expect they already arrive there. Don't know much news except from taverns and passer-by's." Yoren said gruffly.

"Joffrey," Arya breathed. "Someone should kill him!"

"Someone will, but it won't be me, nor you neither. It will probably be that cousin of yours, or even your brother."

Even so, she walked for the rest of that day, and the day after, and the day after that, too raw to sit a donkey. Hot Pie was worse off; Yoren had to shift some barrels around so he could lie in the back of a wagon on some sacks of barley, and he whimpered every time the wheels hit a rock. Lommy Greenhands wasn't even hurt, yet he stayed as far away from Arya as he could get. "Every time you look at him, he twitches," Gendry told her as she walked beside his donkey. She did not answer. It seemed safer not to talk to anyone.

That night she lay upon her thin blanket on the hard ground, staring up at the great red comet. The comet was splendid and scary all at once. "The Red Sword," Gendry named it; he claimed it looked like a sword, the blade still red-hot from the forge.

"It has the colours of House Targaryen," Barristan whispered to her once time. "It signifies that your cousin is the rightful king." The old knight seemed to be obsessed to find Jon.

She yearned to see her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon... but it was Jon she thought of most. She wished so that Jon might muss up her hair and call her "little sister." She'd tell him, "I missed you," and he'd say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything. Even if he was a king or not.

**_Thanks guys for all the support and a special thanks to all of you who messaged me with advice and reviewed as well. Part 2 might be up tomorrow I have not finished it, but basically POVs: Jon, Daenerys and then Robb. Chapter 11 will start ACOK events _**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank for the support guys. I've made up my mind on who I am putting as Jon's love interest, thanks to the idea by Shogun24. This one, not really ground breaking, but I wanted to fill in the void. **

**Arya **

They traveled dawn to dusk, past woods and orchards and neatly tended fields, through small villages, crowded market towns, and stout hold-fasts. Come dark, they would make camp and eat by the light of the Red Sword. The men took turns standing watch. Arya would glimpse firelight flickering through the trees from the camps of other travelers. There seemed to be more camps every night, and more traffic on the kingsroad by day.

Morning, noon, and night they came, old folks and little children, big men and small ones, barefoot girls and women with babes at their breasts. Some drove farm wagons or bumped along in the back of ox carts. More rode: draft horses, ponies, mules, donkeys, anything that would walk or run or roll. One woman led a milk cow with a little girl on its back. Arya saw a smith pushing a wheelbarrow with his tools inside, hammers and tongs and even an anvil, and a little while later a different man with a different wheelbarrow, only inside this one were two babies in a blanket. Most came on foot, with their goods on their shoulders and weary, wary looks upon their faces. They walked south, toward the city, toward King's Landing, and only one in a hundred spared so much as a word for Yoren and his charges, traveling north. She wondered why no one else was going the same way as them.

Many of the travellers were armed; Arya saw daggers and dirks, scythes and axes, and here and there a sword. Some had made clubs from tree limbs, or carved knobby staffs. They fingered their weapons and gave lingering looks at the wagons as they rolled by, yet in the end they let the column pass. Thirty was too many, no matter what they had in those wagons.

_Look with your eyes, Syrio had said, listen with your ears. _

One day a madwoman began to scream at them from the side of the road. "Fools! They'll kill you, fools!" She was scarecrow thin, with hollow eyes and bloody feet. The Old Knight had felt sorry for her, giving her a few silver coins. She merely looked at them in her palms, spat at Barristan's face and chucked them in his face. Arya might have punched her, but Barristan Selmy was a calmer man than she.

The next morning, a sleek merchant on a grey mare reined up by Yoren and offered to buy his wagons and everything in them for a quarter of their worth. "It's war, they'll take what they want, you'll do better selling to me, my friend." Yoren turned away with a twist of his crooked shoulders, and spat.

Arya noticed the first grave that same day; a small mound beside the road, dug for a child. A crystal had been set in the soft earth, and Lommy wanted to take it until Gendry told him he'd better leave the dead alone. A few leagues farther on, Praed pointed out more graves, a whole row freshly dug. After that, a day hardly passed without one.

One time Arya woke in the dark, frightened for no reason she could name. Above, the Red Sword shared the sky with half a thousand stars. The night seemed oddly quiet to her, though she could hear Yoren's muttered snores, the crackle of the fire, even the muffled stirrings of the donkeys. Yet somehow it felt as though the worlds were holding its breath, and the silence made her shiver. She went back to sleep clutching Needle.

Come morning, when Praed did not awaken, Arya realized that it had been his coughing she had missed. They dug a grave of their own then, burying the sellsword where he'd slept. Yoren stripped him of his valuables before they threw the dirt on him. One man claimed his boots,

Another dagger. His mail shirt and helm were given to Barristan, who lacked for armour. Under the band, he was called Arstan Whitebeard. His longsword Yoren handed to the Bull.

"Arms like yours might be you can learn to use this," he told him. A boy called Tarber tossed a handful of acorns on top of Praed's body, so an oak might grow to mark his place.

As they continued walking, Arya and Gendry rode next Arstan. Gendry was admiring the longsword while Arstan talked to him on how to handle the sword. Arya listened, hoping to learn something on how to use Needle. In times like these, Water Dancing was not going to cut it. Arstan Whitebeard knew what he was talking about, but every so often he would shoot uneasy glances at the Bull, as if he knew or recognized him from somewhere.

That evening they stopped in a village at an ivy-covered inn. Yoren counted the coins in his purse and decided they had enough for a hot meal. "We'll sleep outside, same as ever, but they got a bathhouse here, if any of you feels the need o' hot water and a lick o' soap."

Arya did not dare, even though she smelled as bad as Yoren by now, all sour and stinky. Some of the creatures living in her clothes had come all the way from Flea Bottom with her; it didn't seem right to drown them. Tarber, Arstan and Hot Pie and the Bull joined the line of men headed for the tubs. Others settled down in front of the bathhouse. The rest crowded into the common room. Yoren even sent Lommy out with tankards for the three in fetters, who'd been left chained up in the back of their wagon.

Washed and unwashed alike supped on hot pork pies and baked apples. The innkeeper gave them a round of beer on the house. "I had a brother took the black, years ago. Serving boy, clever, but one day he got seen filching pepper from m'lord's table. He liked the taste of it, is all. Just a pinch o' pepper, but Ser Malcolm was a hard man. You get pepper on the Wall?" When Yoren shook his head, the man sighed. "Shame, Lync loved that pepper."

Arya sipped at her tankard cautiously, to a disapproving old knight, between spoons of pie still warm from the oven. Her father sometimes let them have a cup of beer, she remembered. Sansa used to make a face at the taste and say that wine was ever so much finer, but Arya had liked it well enough. It made her sad to think of Sansa and her father.

The inn was full of people moving south, and the common room erupted in scorn when Yoren said they were traveling the other way. "You'll be back soon enough," the innkeeper vowed. "There's no going north. Half the fields are burnt, and what folks are left is walled up inside their holdfasts. One bunch rides off at dawn and another one shows up by dusk."

"That's nothing to us," Yoren insisted stubbornly. "Tully or Lannister makes no matter. The Watch takes no part."

Lord Tully is my grandfather, Arya thought. It mattered to her, but she chewed her lip and kept quiet, listening.

"It's more than Lannister and Tully," the innkeeper said. "There are wild men down from the Mountains of the Moon, try telling them you take no part. And the Starks are in it too; the Targaryens the top dog, a new king. The young man who was thought a bastard, Prince Rhaegar's son…"

Arya sat up straight, straining to hear. Did he mean Jon?

"I heard the boy rides to battle on a white wolf," said a yellow-haired man with a tankard in his hand. "And that a dragon flies above him breathing fire upon his foes."

"Fool's talk." Yoren spat.

"The man I heard it from, he saw it himself. A two wolves, one his cousin, big as a horse, he swore."

"Swearing doesn't make it true, Hod," the innkeeper said. "You keep swearing you'll pay what you owe me, and I've yet to see a copper." The common room erupted in laughter, and the man with the yellow hair turned red.

"It's been a bad year for wolves," volunteered a sallow man in a travel stained green cloak. "Around the Gods Eye, the packs have grown bolder'n anyone can remember. Sheep, cows, dogs, makes no matter, they kill as they like, and they got no fear of men. It's worth your life to go into those woods by night."

"Ah, that's more tales, and no more true than the other."

"I heard the same thing from my cousin, and she's not the sort to lie," an old woman said. "She says there's this great pack, hundreds of them, man killers. The one that leads them is a she-wolf, a bitch from the seventh hell."

A she-wolf. Arya sloshed her beer, wondering. Was the Gods Eye near the Trident? She wished she had a map. It had been near the Trident that she'd left Nymeria. She hadn't wanted to, but Jory said they had no choice, that if the wolf came back with them she'd be killed for biting Joffrey, even though he'd deserved it. They'd had to shout and scream and throw stones, and it wasn't until a few of Arya's stones struck home that the direwolf had finally stopped following them. She probably wouldn't even know me now, Arya thought. Or if she did, she'd hate me.

The man in the green cloak said, "I heard how this hell-bitch walked into a village one day... a market day, people everywhere, and she walks in bold as you please and tears a baby from his mother's arms. When the tale reached Lord Mooton, him and his sons swore they'd put an end to her. They tracked her to her lair with a pack of wolfhounds, and barely escaped with their skins. Not one of those dogs came back, not one."

"That's just a story," Arya blurted out before she could stop herself. "Wolves don't eat babies."

"And what would you know about it, lad?" asked the man in the green cloak.

Before she could think of an answer, Yoren had her by the arm. "The boy's greensick on beer, that's all it is."

"No I'm not. They don't eat babies..."

"Outside, boy... and see that you stay there until you learn to shut your mouth when men are talking." He gave her a stiff shove, toward the side door that led back to the stables. "Go on now. See that the stableboy has watered our horses."

Arya went outside, stiff with fury. "They don't," she muttered, kicking at a rock as she stalked off. It went rolling and fetched up under the wagons.

Arya went to find Arstan Whitebeard, and found him near the forest's edge trying to teach the Bull the proper techniques of fighting. Arya sat down on a log, watching them as they sparred. Arya could see that the Bull's stance was crooked, his sword arm was sloppy, and he held the sword loosely. Gendry did not know how to use a sword, only to make them. Sure enough, Arstan noticed too suddenly punched Gendry across the jaw in a step motion, causing the black haired boy to drop his sword and stumble backwards, more in surprise than hurt. For an old man, he was surprisingly fit and strong.

"Did you see how easily I disarmed you?" Arstan said as he picked up Gendry's sword and threw it back to him, hilt first, to a dazed boy. "Your stance is lacking. Stand up tall and straight, and keep your sword away from your body and towards your target. No, not like that,"

For ten minutes, it went on and on like this until Arya began to choke with laughter. A bruised and tired Gendry looked back furiously at her. "What, you think you can do better?"

"I _know _I can do better, Bull," Arya replied. "Not with a longsword, but with Needle…yes. Of course, I could never beat Arstan since he is a Ser." She was surprised how the lie escaped her so easily.

Arstan smiled, and then pointed at her with his longsword, "Would you care to join us then, Arry? I have noticed you listening intently whenever I talk with Gendry here about how to fight with a sword. You wear that Needle on your belt, but have you earned the right to use it, I wonder? You can show us what you know, and I can strengthen your swordplay."

Arya was surprised that he was offering this opportunity. She had thought Barristan the White Knight as a conservative type like most southerners, disapproving of woman wearing breeches and using a sword, instead opting for them to be in pretty dresses and make up. But Barristan pushed her like any other male, and was not afraid to be blunt and clear with her. He was slowly becoming a friend.

"Are you a knight, Arstan?" Gendry asked in wonder.

Arstan shrugged indifferently. "The distance between my knighthood and my crimes as a mercenary is not that far off, especially in this age. The true knights all died out during the reign of the Mad King, gods be good. But yes, I am a Ser, knighted by Ser Gerold Hightower during the rule of Aerys the Second."

"Wow," Gendry said in awe. "So you are willing to teach Arry and me how to fight?"

"The road is dark, and there are dangers on the road," he said, shooting a look at Arya. "You think because you both are a boy, which saves you from the rapists and the soldiers? No, rape is common amongst the males as well. There are so messed up people during wartime that they pillage, raid and fuck as they want. Being able to handle a sword is a gift, not every person can. I will teach you how to defend and attack people if necessary."

"So, you will make us your squires then?" Arya said hopefully. She had always wanted to be a squire when she was young, and had aspired until her mother had put those dreams to dust with a simple talk. And to be a squire of such a great knight…this was the only opportunity she could get.

Arstan laughed. "Let us not get a too ahead of ourselves. Show me what you both have."

And so for the next hour, Arya and Gendry practiced with the basics of swordplay with Arstan Whitebeard. Some of the things, Arya knew: gripping your sword with the dominant hand right below the guard while grabbing the pommel. Gendry found it uncomfortable and was more of a two-hander, but Arya was used to one hand.

"Hold your sword so that the pommel is right above your bellybutton - don't rest it on the stomach, keep it a little ways out - and point the tip somewhere between the sternum and throat. Now if they charge full on they'll run into your weapon," Arstan corrected Arya as they sparred. "That's it, Arry. Now go and attack me."

As Arya practised with Needle and Gendry his longsword, they worked on the positioning of their footing. "Now the footwork. Place your left foot behind your right foot - other way around if you're left handed, Arry, - and stand on the balls of your left foot. Keep your balance!" He struck the blunt side of his sword against her knees lightly, causing her to grunt in pain. Even if he knew she wasn't a girl, he still treated her rough. As expected when you learnt how to fight, she supposed.

"When you strike, you push with your left foot, sliding your right foot on the ground and raise your sword. Now bring your left foot back into position and STRIKE!" Arstan went after her with his shortsword as met him with a clash of steel. Gendry was stunned as her good skill. "You're so skinny, but you are quick on your feet, Arry." He said impressively.

And when Gendry and Arry finally fought, he instructed, "Practice your strikes. Don't weakly hit them; keep each and every swing full and powerful. Keep your battle cry strong like a KIA! So your hit stays strong. After you are good at individual strikes, try them in a string, hit the gloves, and then immediately advance to hit the head! Arry, Gendry, good work!"

Arya was disarmed a few times by Gendry, but she had managed to prick him accidently as well when he wasn't looking straight. He howled in pain, and Arya remembered what Jon had once told her, "Stick them with the pointy end." She realised that sometimes, that saying was true. Syrio had taught her how to dance with steel, but water dancing would not save her with a brute like the Mountain or his brother.

When Arstan saw Gendry in pain, he then shook his head and said, "A skilled warrior keeps his eyes locked on his enemy's pair, so that he can predict his moves."

When they had finished, Arya was so tired and battered her knees almost gave way. Gendry was not that bad, but he was bruised down his muscled arms and there was a small slash across his cheek. Most of these wounds inflicted by Arstan, but Arya had kicked Gendry in the leg as well once.

"You still have a long way to go," Arstan said to them as they drank water from a pond. "But you are getting there. If you want to be my secret squires before we join the Wall…" Arya and Gendry nodded eagerly.

Arstan then talked with Arya in private. "I am surprised that Lord Stark let you learn how to use a sword."

"My grandfather always disapproved of my aunt when she was young, but my father said that Lyanna and I had always had a touch of wolf-blood and we could not help it. He knew I would never be a lady, and my father…he got me a dance instructor."

"Syrio Forel, I assume."

"Yes," Arya was surprised that he knew about the Braavosi swordsman. "How did you…"

Arstan sighed. "I spoke with him on occasion. He was such an interesting man. It is a shame on what happened to him and your father….never mind. It is good that you are sufficient in swordplay Arya, though if I was your father I would never put a sword in your hand. But…you are eager to learn, and I would never push away someone who wants to learn how to fight."

As Arya began moving around their camp, she found herself outside the inn again, and picked up a stone and flicked it towards the sign post. It hit the post and made a clunk sound off. It went rolling and fetched up under the wagons.

"Boy," a friendly voice called out. "Lovely boy."

One of the men in irons was talking to her. Warily, Arya approached the wagon, one hand on Needle's hilt.

The prisoner lifted an empty tankard, his chains rattling. "A man could use another taste of beer. A man has a thirst, wearing these heavy bracelets." He was the youngest of the three, slender, fine-featured, and always smiling. His hair was red on one side and white on the other, all matted and filthy from cage and travel. "A man could use a bath too," he said, when he saw the way Arya was looking at him. "A boy could make a friend."

"I have friends," Arya said. She hoped Barristan and Gendry were her friends.

"None I can see. That knight is there to protect, not your friend." said the one without a nose. He was squat and thick, with huge hands. Black hair covered his arms and legs and chest, even his back. He reminded Arya of a drawing she had once seen in a book, of an ape from the Summer Isles. The hole in his face made it hard to look at him for long.

The bald one opened his mouth and hissed like some immense white lizard. When Arya flinched back, startled, he opened his mouth wide and waggled his tongue at her, only it was more a stump than a tongue. "Stop that," she blurted.

"A man does not choose his companions in the black cells," the handsome one with the red-and-white hair said. Something about the way he talked reminded her of Syrio; it was the same, yet different too. "These two, they have no courtesy. A man must ask forgiveness. You are called Arry, is that not so?"

"Lumpyhead," said the noseless one. "Lumpyhead Lumpyface Stickboy. Have a care, Lorath; he'll hit you with his stick."

"A man must be ashamed of the company he keeps, Arry," the handsome one said. "This man has the honor to be Jaqen Hghar, once of the Free City of Lorath. Would that he were home. This man's ill-bred companions in captivity are named Rorge."-he waved his tankard at the noseless man-"and Biter." Biter hissed at her again, displaying a mouthful of yellowed teeth filed into points. "A man must have some name, is that not so? Biter cannot speak and Biter cannot write, yet his teeth are very sharp, so a man calls him Biter and he smiles. Are you charmed?"

Arya backed away from the wagon. "No." They can't hurt me, she told herself, and they're all chained up.

He turned his tankard upside down. "A man must weep."

Rorge, the noseless one, flung his drinking cup at her with a curse. His manacles made him clumsy, yet even so he would have sent the heavy pewter tankard crashing into her head if Arya hadn't leapt aside. "You get us some beer, pimple. Now!"

"You shut your mouth!" Arya tried to think what Syrio would have done. She drew her wooden practice sword.

"Come closer," Rorge said, "and I'll shove that stick up your bunghole and fuck you bloody."

Fear cuts deeper than swords. Arya made herself approach the wagon. Every step was harder than the one before. Fierce as a wolverine, calm as still water. The words sang in her head. Syrio would not have been afraid. She was almost close enough to touch the wheel when Biter lurched to his feet and grabbed for her, his irons clanking and rattling. The manacles brought his hands up short, half a foot from her face. He hissed.

She hit him. Hard, right between his little eyes.

Screaming, Biter reeled back, and then threw all his weight against his chains. The links slithered and turned and grew taut, and Arya heard the creak of old dry wood as the great iron rings strained against the floorboards of the wagon. Huge pale hands groped for her while veins bulged along Biter's arms, but the bonds held, and finally the man collapsed backward. Blood ran from the weeping sores on his cheeks.

"A boy has more courage than sense," the one who had named himself Jaqen H'ghar observed.

Arya edged backward away from the wagon. When she felt the hand on her shoulder, she whirled, bringing up her stick sword again, but it was only Gendry. "What are you doing?"

He raised his hands defensively. "Yoren said none of us should go near those three."

"They don't scare me," Arya said.

"Then you're stupid. They scare me." The Bull's hand fell to the hilt of his sword, and Rorge began to laugh. "Let's get away from them."

Arya scuffed at the ground with her foot, but she let the Bull lead her around to the front of the inn. Rorge's laughter and Biter's hissing followed them. "Want to fight?" she asked the Bull. She wanted to hit something.

He blinked at her, startled. Strands of thick black hair, still wet from the bathhouse, fell across his deep blue eyes. It reminded her of someone she knew before. "We just fought a few minutes ago, and I am afraid that I'd hurt you."

"You would not."

"You know how strong I am."

"And _you _know how quick I am."

"You're asking for it, Arry." He drew Praed's longsword. "This is cheap steel, but it's a real sword."

Arya unsheathed Needle. "This is good steel, so it's realer than yours. Castle-forged, remember?"

The Bull shook his head. "Promise not to cry if I cut you?"

"I'll promise if you will." She turned sideways, into her water dancer's stance since she would have to be quick as a cat and not like a knight, but the Bull did not move. He was looking at something behind her. "What's wrong?"

"Gold cloaks." His face closed up tight.

It couldn't be, Arya thought, but when she glanced back, they were riding up the kingsroad, six in the black ringmail and golden cloaks of the City Watch. One was an officer; he wore a black enamel breastplate ornamented with four golden disks. They drew up in front of the inn.

She saw Barristan draw up his hood, concealing his bearded face from the guards.

Look with your eyes; Syrio's voice seemed to whisper. Her eyes saw white lather under their saddles; the horses had been ridden long and hard. Calm as still water, she took Gendry by the arm and drew him back behind a tall flowering hedge.

"What is it?" he asked. "What are you doing? Let go."

"Quiet as a shadow," she whispered, pulling him down.

Some of Yoren's other charges were sitting in front of the bathhouse, waiting their turn at a tub. "You men," one of the gold cloaks shouted. "You the ones left to take the black?"

"We might be," was the cautious answer.

"We'd rather join you boys," old Reysen said. "We hear its cold on that Wall."

The gold cloak officer dismounted. "I have a warrant for a certain boy-"

Yoren stepped out of the inn, fingering his tangled black beard. "Who is it wants this boy?"

The other gold cloaks were dismounting to stand beside their horses. "Why are we hiding?" the Bull whispered.

"It's me they want," Arya whispered back. His ear smelled of soap. "You be quiet."

"The queen wants him, old man, not that it's your concern," the officer said, drawing a ribbon from his belt. "Here, Her Grace's seal and warrant."

Behind the hedge, the Bull shook his head doubtfully. "Why would the queen want you, Arry?"

She punched his shoulder. "Be quiet!"

Yoren fingered the warrant ribbon with its blob of golden wax. "Pretty." He spit. "Thing is, the boy's in the Night's Watch now. What he done back in the city don't mean piss-all."

"The queen's not interested in your views, old man, and neither am I," the officer said. "I'll have the boy."

Arya thought about running, but she knew she wouldn't get far on her donkey when the gold cloaks had horses. And she was so tired of running. She'd run when Ser Meryn came for her, and again when they killed her father. If she was a real water dancer, she would go out there with Needle and kill all of them, and never run from anyone ever again.

She heard the rustle of bark near her as Arstan said, "Whoever you want, you cannot take him."

"And who are you to say who we want or not, old man?" The man asked, shaking his head at the Old Knight.

"You'll have no one," Yoren said stubbornly. "There are laws on such things."

The gold cloak drew a shortsword. "Here's your law."

Yoren looked at the blade. "That's no law, just a sword. Happens I got one too."

The officer smiled. "Old fool. I have five men with me."

Yoren spat. "Happens I got around forty."

The gold cloak laughed. "This lot?" said a big lout with a broken nose. "Who's first?" he shouted, showing his steel.

Tarber plucked a pitchfork out of a bale of hay. "I am."

"No, I am," called Cutjack, the plump stonemason, pulling his hammer off the leather apron he always wore.

"Me." Kurz came up off the ground with his skinning knife in hand.

"Me and him." Koss strung his longbow.

"I will kill all five of you if I have too." Barristan drew his sword from his scabbard.

"All of us," said Reysen, snatching up the tall hardwood walking staff he carried.

Dobber stepped naked out of the bathhouse with his clothes in a bundle, saw what was happening, and dropped everything but his dagger. "Is it a fight?" he asked.

"I guess," said Hot Pie, scrambling on all fours for a big rock to throw. Arya could not believe what she was seeing. She hated Hot Pie! Why would he risk himself for her?

The one with the broken nose still thought it was funny. "You girls put away those rocks and sticks before you get spanked. None of you knows what end of a sword to hold."

"I do!" Arya wouldn't let them die for her like Syrio. She wouldn't! Shoving through the hedge with Needle in hand, she slid into a water dancer's stance.

Broken Nose guffawed. The officer looked her up and down. "Put the blade away, little girl, no one wants to hurt you."

"I'm not a girl!" she yelled, furious. What was wrong with them? They rode all this way for her and here she was and they were just smiling at her. "I'm the one you want."

"He's the one we want." The officer jabbed his shortsword toward Gendry, who'd come forward to stand beside her, Praed's cheap steel in his hand.

But it was a mistake to take his eyes off Yoren, even for an instant. Quick as that, the black brother's sword was pressed to the apple of the officer's throat. "Not the one you get, less you want me to see if your apple's ripe yet. I got me ten, fifteen more brothers in that inn, if you still need convincing. I was you, I'd let loose of that gut-cutter, spread my cheeks over that fat little horse, and gallop on back to the city." He spat, and poked harder with the point of his sword. "Now."

The officer's fingers uncurled. His sword fell in the dust.

"We'll just keep that," Yoren said. "Good steel's always needed on the Wall."

"As you say. For now. Men." The gold cloaks sheathed and mounted up. "You'd best scamper up to that Wall of yours in a hurry, old man.

"The next time I catch you, I believe I'll have your head to go with the bastard boy's."

"Better men than you have tried." Yoren slapped the rump of the officer's horse with the flat of his sword and sent him reeling off down the kingsroad. His men followed.

When they were out of sight, Hot Pie began to whoop, but Yoren looked angrier than ever. "Fool! You think he's done with us? Next time he won't prance up and hand me no damn ribbon. Get the rest out o' them baths, we need to be moving. Ride all night, maybe we can stay ahead o' them for a bit." He scooped up the shortsword the officer had dropped. "Who wants this?"

"Me!" Hot Pie yelled.

"Don't be using it on Arry." He handed the boy the sword, hilt first, and walked over to Arya, but it was the Bull he spoke to. "Queen wants you bad, boy."

Arya was lost. "Why should she want him?"

The Bull scowled at her. "Why should she want you? You're nothing but a little gutter rat!"

"Well, you're nothing but a bastard boy!" Or maybe he was only pretending to be a bastard boy.

"What's your true name?" Barristan asked.

"Gendry, like I told you before. I did not lie." he said, like he wasn't quite sure.

"Don't see why they neither o' you," Yoren said, "but they can't have you regardless. You ride them two coursers. First sight of a gold cloak, make for the Wall like a dragon's on your tail. The rest o' us don't mean spit to them."

"Except for you," Arya pointed out. "That man said he'd take your head too."

"Well, as to that," Yoren said, "if he can get it off my shoulders, he's welcome to it."

As he left, Gendry sighed and went off.

Arya stood closer to Barristan, who then looked after at Gendry thoughtfully.

"Strange," Barristan said. "Now, there is a question."

"What do you mean?" Arya asked.

Barristan seemed to be talking to himself, his blue eyes deep with concentration. "Now, what would the queen want with a bastard son of King Robert Baratheon?"

**Sansa**

The morning of King Joffrey's name day dawned bright and windy, with the long tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds. Sansa was watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her down to the tourney grounds. "What do you think it means?" she asked him as he approached.

"Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. "See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace's name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey's Comet."

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's Tail." She said carefully. The commonfolk shouted other things about the comet that caused her distress. Not for Joffrey or the Lannisters, but for her own safety.

She had heard, "King Jon's Coming," And "The Saviour's Dragon," the most, but she had no doubt many of the city folk still cried out for King Jon Targaryen in other ways. In that short amount of time after her father's execution, the city was a war zone in itself. The servants even whispered that it would mean Jon would emerge victorious in the war.

"King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son," Ser Arys said, though he had hesistated before speaking. "He is the heir to the throne-and crimson is the colour of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey's ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies."

_Is it true?_ She wondered. Would the gods be so cruel? Her mother was one of Joffrey's enemies now, her brother Robb another. Jon most of all, Joffrey never hid the distain for her cousin, possibly even more than his _uncles_. Her father had died by the king's command. Must Jon, Robb and her lady mother die next? The comet was red, like the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. Sansa made a mental note to light a candle for her family in the sept when she had the chance.

Sansa closed the shutters and turned sharply away from the window.

"You look very lovely today, my lady," Ser Arys said.

"Thank you, ser," Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend the tourney in his honor; Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes. She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. When the council told him that Jon had been proclaimed by the northern and river lords the King of the Dragons, his rage had been a fearsome thing, and he had sent Ser Boros to beat her.

"Shall we go?" Ser Arys offered his arm and she let him lead her from her chamber. If she must have one of the Kingsguard dogging her steps, Sansa preferred that it be him. Ser Boros was short-tempered, Ser Meryn cold, and Ser Mandon's strange dead eyes made her uneasy, while Ser Preston treated her like a lack wit child. Arys Oakheart was courteous, and would talk to her cordially. He was not unpleasant to look at either, and he looked dashing today with his white silk cloak fastened at the shoulder by a golden leaf, and a spreading oak tree worked upon the breast of his tunic in shining gold thread.

Once, he even objected when Joffrey commanded him to hit her. He did hit her in the end, but not hard as Ser Meryn or Ser Boros might have, and at least he had argued. The others obeyed without question... except for the Hound, but Joffrey Waters – that was what some people whispered and for no doubt, Sansa did not consider him a Baratheon - never asked the Hound to punish her.

"Who do you think will win the day's honours?" Sansa asked as they descended the steps arm in arm.

"I will," Ser Arys answered, smiling. "Yet I fear the triumph will have no savoury. This will be a small field, and poor. There is small honor in unhorsing green boys."

The last tourney had been different, Sansa reflected. King Robert had staged it in her father's honor.

High lords and fabled champions had come from all over the realm to compete, and the whole city had turned out to watch. She remembered the splendour of it: the field of pavilions along the river with a knight's shield hung before each door, the long rows of silken pennants waving in the wind, the gleam of sunlight on bright steel and gilded spurs. The days had rung to the sounds of trumpets and pounding hooves, and the nights had been full of feasts and song.

Those had been the most magical days of her life, but they seemed a memory from another age now.

Robert Baratheon was dead, and her father as well, beheaded as a traitor by Joffrey while the crowd begged him to stop, on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. Now there were three kings in the land, and war raged beyond the Trident while the city filled with desperate men. Small wonder that they had to hold Joffrey's tournament behind the thick stone walls of the Red Keep. As well, the city folk still called for Joffrey head even after the Queen had sent out men to shut them up.

"Will the queen attend, do you think?" Sansa always felt safer when Cersei was there to restrain her son.

"I fear not, my lady. The council is meeting, some urgent business." Ser Arys dropped his voice.

"Lord Tywin has gone to ground at Harrenhal instead of bringing his army to the city as the queen commanded. Her Grace is furious. Also, there is recent news that Ser Gregor Clegane and his combined host of a thousand men were severely and soundly defeated by Jon Targaryen at the Battle at the Red Fork. Clegane managed to just escape and retreat to Harrenhal with only two hundred surviving."

He fell silent as a column of Lannister guardsmen marched past, in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms. Ser Arys was fond of gossip, but only when he was certain that no one was listening.

"The Battle at the Red Fork?" Sansa enquired, realising that Arys would not harm her if she became too overly curious. Jon's victory was one of the best news she had heard for that day. The Red Fork of the Trident was wide and slow, a meandering river of loops and bends dotted with tiny wooded islets and frequently choked by sandbars and snags, from what Sansa had seen.

"The Mountain and his three hundred men left the Gods Eye and had joined with Vargo Hoat, the Dothraki, and Ser Amory Lorch, to begin a wave of terror and devastation everything south of the Trident. It was working, until Clegane chose to commence rapine near the Red Fork and began a raid and a pillaging of Lord Harroway's Town. But as a hundred men force rode through the town, Jon Targaryen leading a host of three thousand men surprised them from the east, and attacked from the rear.

"It was a massacre, at least for the Lannisters. The Targaryen boy and his men butchered every soldier present, but did not harm any of the townsfolk by all reports and he even left a few hundred to guard its borders, effectively saving the town from being put to sword by Clegane or put alight. That is good news at least, even if it comes from the enemy. The folk of Harroway's Town will call out for Jon Targaryen as their king now."

"What happened next?" Sansa was intrigued now. How did Jon know that that awful man and his dreadful army would be there?

"Clegane was forced to retreat with Lorch and Hoat, but Targaryen chased after him with full force, meeting them near the edges of the Red Fork and ordering a charge. The battle was brutal; as the Mountain's men were caught completely unaware as the Stark-Tully soldiers butchered their numbers. Jon Targaryen lost only around sixty men – a remarkable feat. Seeing that they were losing, The Mountain ordered a retreat back to Harrenhal, and Targaryen did not follow, pulling back to Riverrun. Still, one battle does not make a war."

_I hope Jon and Robb win all the battles. Joffrey will beat me when he hears of this._

The carpenters had erected a gallery and lists in the outer bailey. It was a poor thing indeed, and the meagre throng that had gathered to watch filled but half the seats.

The king was shaded beneath a crimson canopy, one leg thrown negligently over the carved wooden arm of his chair. Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen sat behind him. In the back of the royal box, Sandor Clegane stood at guard, his hands resting on his sword-belt. The white cloak of the Kingsguard was draped over his broad shoulders and fastened with a jewelled brooch, the snowy cloth looking somehow unnatural against his brown rough-spun tunic and studded leather jerkin.

"Lady Sansa," the Hound announced curtly when he saw her. His voice was as rough as the sound of a saw on wood. The burn scars on his face and throat made one side of his mouth twitch when he spoke.

Princess Myrcella nodded a shy greeting at the sound of Sansa's name, but plump little Prince Tommen jumped up eagerly. "Sansa, did you hear? I'm to ride in the tourney today. Mother said

I could." Tommen was all of nine. He reminded her little brother, Bran. They were of an age. Bran was back at Winterfell, a cripple, yet safe.

Sansa would have given anything to be with him. "I fear for the life of your foeman," she told Tommen solemnly.

"His foeman will be stuffed with straw," Joff said as he rose. The king was clad in a gilded breastplate with a roaring lion engraved upon its chest, as if he expected the war to engulf them at any moment. He was fourteen today and tall for his age, with the green eyes and golden hair of the Lannisters. A bastard born of incest was what her father had proclaimed.

"You're Grace," she said, dipping in a curtsy.

Ser Arys bowed. "Pray pardon me, Your Grace. I must equip myself for the lists."

Joffrey waved a curt dismissal while he studied Sansa from head to heels. Sansa felt disgust crawl into her throat as his wormy eyes regarded her. "I'm pleased you wore my stones."

So the king had decided to play the gallant today. Sansa was relieved. "I thank you for them... and for your tender words. I pray you a lucky name day, Your Grace."

"Sit," Joffrey commanded, gesturing her to the empty seat beside his own. "Have you heard? The Beggar King is dead."

"Who?" For a sickening moment Sansa was afraid he meant Jon.

"Viserys, The last son of Mad King Aerys and you're traitor cousin's uncle - He's been going about the Free Cities since before I was born, calling himself a king. Well, Mother says the Dothraki finally crowned him. With molten gold." He laughed, but was watching her closely.

Sansa did not reply. She felt sorry on Jon's behalf. She did not know much about it, but she knew Viserys Targaryen was Jon's uncle.

Joffrey continued. "That's funny, don't you think? The dragon was his sigil, as is your filthy cousin. It would be like if a dragon killed Jon, or better yet, it's almost as good as if some wolf killed your traitor brother as well. Maybe I'll feed him to wolves after I've caught him," Joffrey grinned. "Did you know that I intent to challenge your cousin to single combat?"

"I should like to see that, Your Grace." _More than you know. Jon would wipe the floor with you, you disgusting monster. He would not even break a sweat while he beheaded you_. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him.

"Will you enter the lists today?" she asked quickly.

The king frowned. "My lady mother said it was not fitting, since the tourney is in my honor. Otherwise I would have been champion. Isn't that so, dog?"

The Hound's mouth twitched. "Against this lot? Why not?"

He had been the champion in her father's tourney, Sansa remembered. "Will you joust today, my lord?" she asked him.

Clegane's voice was thick with contempt. "Wouldn't be worth the bother of arming myself. This is a tournament of gnats."

The king laughed. "My dog has a fierce bark. Perhaps I should command him to fight the day's champion. To the death." Joffrey was fond of making men fight to the death.

"You'd be one warrior, the poorer." The Hound had never taken a knight's vows. His brother was a knight, and he hated his brother.

A blare of trumpets sounded. The king settled back in his seat and took Sansa's hand. Once that would have set her heart to pounding, but that was before he had answered her plea for mercy by presenting her with her father's head. His touch filled her with revulsion now, but she knew better than to show it. She made herself sit very still.

"Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard," a herald called.

Ser Meryn entered from the west side of the yard, clad in gleaming white plate chased with gold and mounted on a milk-white charger with a flowing grey mane. His cloak streamed behind him like a field of snow. He carried a twelve-foot lance.

"Ser Hobber of House Redwyne, of the Arbor," the herald sang. Ser Hobber trotted in from the east, riding a black stallion caparisoned in burgundy and blue. His lance was striped in the same colours, and his shield bore the grape cluster sigil of his House. The Redwyne twins were the queen's unwilling guests, even as Sansa was. She wondered whose notion it had been for them to ride in Joffrey's tourney. Not their own, she thought.

At a signal from the master of revels, the combatants couched their lances and put their spurs to their mounts. There were shouts from the watching guardsmen and the lords and ladies in the gallery. The knights came together in the center of the yard with a great shock of wood and steel. The white lance and the striped one exploded in splinters within a second of each other. Hobber Redwyne reeled at the impact, yet somehow managed to keep his seat. Wheeling their horses about at the far end of the lists, the knights tossed down their broken lances and accepted replacements from the squires. Ser Horas Redwyne, Ser Hobber's twin, shouted encouragement to his brother.

But on their second pass Ser Meryn swung the point of his lance to strike Ser Hobber in the chest, driving him from the saddle to crash resoundingly to the earth. Ser Horas cursed and ran out to help his battered brother from the field.

"Poorly ridden," declared King Joffrey.

"Ser Balon Swann, of Stone helm in the Red Watch," Came the herald's cry. Wide white wings ornamented Ser Balon's great helm, and black and white swans fought on his shield. "Morros of House Slynt, heir to Lord Janos of Harrenhal."

"Look at that plumped oaf," Joff hooted, loud enough for half the yard to hear. Morros, a mere squire and a new-made squire at that, was having difficulty managing lance and shield. The lance was a knight's weapon, Sansa knew, the Slynts lowborn. Lord Janos had been no more than commander of the City Watch before Joffrey had raised him to Harrenhal and the council.

_I hope he falls and shames himself,_ she thought bitterly. _I hope Ser Balon kills him._ When Joffrey proclaimed her father's death, it had been Janos Slynt who seized Lord Eddard's severed head by the hair and raised it on high for king, and the crowd cried out in disarray, while Sansa wept and screamed.

Morros wore a checked black-and-gold cloak over black armour inlaid with golden scrollwork. On his shield was the bloody spear his father had chosen as the sigil of their new-made house. But he did not seem to know what to do with the shield as he urged his horse forward, and Ser Balon's point struck the blazon square. Morros dropped his lance, fought for balance, and lost. One foot caught in a stirrup as he fell, and the runaway charger dragged the youth to the end of the lists, head bouncing against the ground. Joff hooted derision. Sansa was appalled, wondering if the gods had heard her vengeful prayer. But when they disentangled Morros Slynt from his horse, they found him bloodied but alive. "Tommen, we picked the wrong foe for you," the king told his brother. "The straw knight jousts better than that one."

Next came Ser Horas Redwyne's turn. He fared better than his twin, vanquishing an elderly knight whose mount was bedecked with silver griffins against a striped blue-and-white field. Splendid as he looked, the old man made a poor contest of it. Joffrey curled his lip. "This is a feeble show."

"I warned you," said the Hound. "Gnats."

The king was growing bored. it made Sansa anxious. She lowered her eyes and resolved to keep quiet, no matter what. When Joffrey Baratheon's mood darkened, any chance word might set off one of his rages.

"Lothor Brune, free rider in the service of Lord Baelish," cried the herald. "Ser Dontos the Red, of House Hollard. "

The free rider, a small man in dented plate without device, duly appeared at the west end of the yard, but of his opponent there was no sign. Finally a chestnut stallion trotted into view in a swirl of crimson and scarlet silks, but Ser Dontos was not on it. The knight appeared a moment later, cursing and staggering, clad in breastplate and plumed helm and nothing else. His legs were pale and skinny, and his manhood flopped about obscenely as he chased after his horse. The watchers roared and shouted insults. Catching his horse by the bridle, Ser Dontos tried to mount, but the animal would not stand still and the knight was so drunk that his bare foot kept missing the stirrup.

By then the crowd was howling with laughter... all but the king. Joffrey had a look in his eyes that Sansa remembered well, the same look he'd had at the Great Sept of Baelor the day he pronounced death on Lord Eddard Stark. Finally Ser Dontos the Red gave it up for a bad job, sat down in the dirt, and removed his plumed helm. "I lose," he shouted. "Fetch me some wine."

The king stood. "A cask from the cellars! I'll see him drowned in it."

Sansa heard herself gasp. "No, you can't."

Joffrey turned his head. "What did you say?"

Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn't meant to say anything, only... Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm.

"Did you say I can't? Did you?"

"Please," Sansa said, "I only meant... it would be ill luck, Your Grace... to, to kill a man on your name day."

"You're lying," Joffrey said. "I ought to drown you with him, if you care for him so much."

"I don't care for him, Your Grace." The words tumbled out desperately. "Drown him or have his head off, only... kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please... not today, not on your name day. I couldn't bear for you to have ill luck... terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so...

Joffrey scowled. He knew she was lying, she could see it. He would make her bleed for this.

"The girl speaks truly," the Hound rasped. "What a man sows on his name day, he reaps throughout the year." His voice was flat, as if he did give a flying damn whether the king believed him or no.

Could it be true? Sansa had not known. It was just something she'd said, desperate to avoid punishment.

Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. "Take him away. I'll have him killed on the morrow, the fool."

"He is," Sansa said. "A fool. You're so clever, to see it. He's better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn't he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death."

The king studied her a moment. "Perhaps you're not as stupid as Mother says." He raised his voice. "Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you're my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley."

Ser Dontos, sobered by his near brush with death, crawled to his knees. "Thank you, Your Grace. And you, my lady. Thank you."

As a brace of Lannister guardsmen led him off, the master of revels approached the box. "You're Grace," he said, "Shall I summon a new challenger for Brune, or proceed with the next tilt?"

"Neither. These are gnats, not knights. I'd have them all put to death, only it's my name day. The tourney is done. Get them all out of my sight."

The sounds from the gatehouse took them by surprise. Chains rattled as the portcullis was drawn upward, and the great gates opened to the creak of iron hinges. "Who told them to open the gate?" Joff demanded. With the troubles in the city, the gates of the Red Keep had been closed for days.

A column of riders emerged from beneath the portcullis with a clink of steel and a clatter of hooves. Clegane stepped close to the king, one hand on the hilt of his longsword. The visitors were dinted and haggard and dusty, yet the standard they carried was the lion of Lannister, golden on its crimson field.

A few wore the red cloaks and mail of Lannister men-at-arms, but more were free riders and sellswords, armoured in oddments and bristling with sharp steel... and there were others, monstrous savages out of one of Old Nan's tales, the scary ones Bran used to love. They were clad in shabby skins and boiled leather, with long hair and fierce beards. Some wore bloodstained bandages over their brows or wrapped around their hands, and others were missing eyes, ears, and fingers.

In their midst, riding on a tall red horse in a strange high saddle that cradled him back and front, was the queen's dwarf brother Tyrion Lannister, the one they called the Imp. He had let his beard grow to cover his pushed-in face, until it was a bristly tangle of yellow and black hair, coarse as wire. Down his back flowed a shadow-skin cloak, black fur striped with white. He held the reins in his left hand and carried his right arm in a white silk sling, but otherwise looked as grotesqueas Sansa remembered from when he had visited Winterfell. With his bulging brow and mismatched eyes, he was still the ugliest man she had ever chanced to look upon. Jon had taken a friendship with the dwarf, before this four king war. Now, she was not so sure.

Yet Tommen, who had been practicing his lance, put his spurs into his pony and galloped headlong across the yard, shouting with glee. One of the savages, a huge shambling man so hairy that his face was all but lost beneath his whiskers, scooped the boy out of his saddle, armour and all, and deposited him on the ground beside his uncle. Tommen's breathless laughter echoed off the walls as Tyrion clapped him on the back plate, and Sansa was startled to see that the two were of a height. Myrcella came running after her brother, and the dwarf picked her up by the waist and spun her in a circle, squealing.

When he lowered her back to the ground, the little man kissed her lightly on the brow and came waddling across the yard toward Joffrey.

Two of his men followed close behind him; a black-haired, black-eyed sellsword who moved like a stalking cat, and a gaunt youth with an empty socket where one eye should have been. Tommen and Myrcella trailed after them.

The dwarf went to one knee before the king. "You're Grace."

"You," Joffrey said.

"Me," the Imp agreed, "although a more courteous greeting might be in order, for an uncle and an elder."

"They said you were dead," the Hound said.

The little man gave the big one a look. One of his eyes was green, one was black, and both were cool. "I was speaking to the king, not to his cur."

"I'm glad you're not dead," said Princess Myrcella.

"We share that view, sweet child." Tyrion turned to Sansa. "My lady, I am sorry for your losses. Truly, the gods are cruel."

Sansa could not think of a word to say to him. How could he be sorry for her losses? Was he mocking her? It wasn't the gods who'd been cruel, it was Joffrey.

"I am sorry for your loss as well, Joffrey," the dwarf said.

"What loss?"

"Your royal father? A large fierce man with a black beard; you'll recall him if you try. He was king before you."

"Oh, him. Yes, it was very sad, a boar killed him."

"Is that what 'they' say, Your Grace?"

Joffrey frowned. Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armour is courtesy, which was it. She donned her armour and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord."

"A great many people are sorry for that," Tyrion replied, "She included. She begged for my forgiveness, so I have no vendetta against her. Your aunt on the other hand…Joffrey, where might I find your mother?"

"She's with my council," the king answered. "Your brother Jaime keeps losing battles." He gave Sansa an angry look, as if it were her fault. "He's been taken by the Starks and we've lost Riverrun and now her stupid cousin, your friend, uncle, is calling himself a king. Claiming my throne"

The dwarf smiled crookedly. "All sorts of people are calling themselves kings these days. It does not surprise me that Jon is doing what he believes is right. He is his father's son, after all." Tyrion said, smiling to himself.

Sansa didn't know which father he was talking about: Her father, or Prince Rhaegar? She knew Prince Rhaegar from her aunt Lyanna, and the songs they said about him. His life made her feel sad.

Joff did not know what to make of that, though he looked suspicious and out of sorts. "Yes. Well. I am pleased you're not dead, Uncle. Did you bring me a gift for my name day?"

"I did. My wits."

"I'd sooner have Jon Targaryen and Robb Stark's head on a spike on the ramparts," Joff said with a sly glance at Sansa. "Tommen, Myrcella, come."

Sandor Clegane lingered behind a moment. "I'd guard that tongue of yours, little man," he warned, before he strode off after his liege.

Sansa was left with the dwarf and his monsters. She tried to think of what else she might say. "You hurt your arm," she managed at last. _Jon hurt his arm as well, when Cersei sent that assassin._ The rumour had escaped from the Riverlands into King's Landing, and Sansa had no evidence to doubt it untrue.

"One of your northmen hit me with a morning-star during the battle on the Green Fork. I escaped him by falling off my horse." His grin turned into something softer as he studied her face. "Is it grief for your lord father that makes you so sad?"

"My father was a traitor," Sansa said at once. "And my brother and lady mother are traitors as well." That reflex she had learned quickly. "I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey."

"No doubt. As loyal as a deer surrounded by wolves."

"Lions," she whispered, without thinking. She glanced about nervously, but there was no one closes enough to hear.

Lannister reached out and took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. "I am only a little lion, child, and I vow, I shall not savage you. Your cousin was a good friend of mine. I will try and resolve this conflict in peace and get you home." Bowing, he said "But now you must excuse me. I have urgent business with queen and council."

Sansa watched him walk off, his body swaying heavily from side to side with every step, like something from a grotesquery. He speaks more gently than Joffrey, she thought, but the queen spoke to me gently too.

He's still a Lannister, her brother and Joff's true father, and no friend. Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again. It would not bode well on the Starks if she did.

**Tyrion**

In the chilly white raiment of the Kingsguard, Ser Mandon Moore looked like a corpse in a shroud. "Her Grace left orders; the council in session is not to be disturbed."

"I would be only a small disturbance, ser." Tyrion slid the parchment from his sleeve. "I bear a letter from my father, Lord Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King. There is his seal."

"Her Grace does not wish to be disturbed," Ser Mandon repeated slowly, as if Tyrion were a dullard who had not heard him the first time.

Jaime had once told him that Moore was the most dangerous of the Kingsguard-excepting himself, always-because his face gave no hint as what he might do next. Tyrion would have welcomed a hint. Bronn and Timett could likely kill the knight if it came to swords, but it would scarcely bode well if he began by slaying one of Joffrey's protectors. Yet if he let the man turn him away, where was his authority? He made himself smile. "Ser Mandon, you have not met my companions. This is Timett son of Timett, a red hand of the Burned Men. And this is Bronn. Perchance you recall Ser Vardis Egen, who was captain of Lord Arryn's household guard?"

"I know the man." Ser Mandon's eyes were pale grey, oddly flat and lifeless.

"Knew," Bronn corrected with a thin smile.

Ser Mandon did not deign to show that he had heard that.

"Be that as it may," Tyrion said lightly, "I truly must see my sister and present my letter, ser. If you would be so kind as to open the door for us?"

The white knight did not respond. Tyrion was almost at the point of trying to force his way past when Ser Mandon abruptly stood aside. "You may enter. They may not."

A small victory, he thought, but sweet. He had passed his first test. Tyrion Lannister shouldered through the door, feeling almost tall. Five members of the king's small council broke off their discussion suddenly.

"You," his sister Cersei said in a tone that was equal parts disbelief and distaste.

"I can see where Joffrey learned his courtesies." Tyrion paused to admire the pair of Valyrian sphinxes that guarded the door, affecting an air of casual confidence. Cersei could smell weakness the way a dog smells f ear.

"What are you doing here?" His sister's lovely green eyes studied him without the least hint of affection.

"Delivering a letter from our lord father." He sauntered to the table and placed the tightly rolled parchment between them.

The eunuch Varys took the letter and turned it in his delicate powdered hands. "How kind of Lord Tywin. And his scaling wax is such a lovely shade of gold." Varys gave the seal a close inspection. "It gives every appearance of being genuine."

"Of course it's genuine." Cersei snatched it out of his hands. She broke the wax and unrolled the parchment.

Tyrion watched her read. His sister had taken the king's seat for herself- he gathered Joffrey did not often trouble to attend council meetings, no more than Robert had- so Tyrion climbed up into the Hand's chair. It seemed only appropriate.

"This is absurd," the queen said at last. "My lord father has sent my brother to sit in his place in this council. He bids us accept Tyrion as the Hand of the King, until such time as he himself can join us."

Grand Maester Pycelle stroked his flowing white beard and nodded ponderously. "It would seem that a welcome is in order."

"Indeed." jowly, balding Janos Slynt looked rather like a frog, a smug frog that had gotten rather above himself. Tyrion remembered his role in executing Lord Stark and wondered what would happen if Jon got his hands on _him._ "We have sore need of you, my lord. Rebellion everywhere, this grim omen in the sky, rioting in the city streets..."

"And whose fault is that, Lord Janos?" Cersei lashed out. "Your gold cloaks are charged with keeping order. As to you, Tyrion, you could better serve us on the field of battle."

He laughed. "No, I'm done with fields of battle, thank you. I sit a chair better than a horse, and I'd sooner hold a wine goblet than a battle-axe. All that about the thunder of the drums, sunlight flashing on armour, magnificent destriers snorting and prancing? Well, the drums gave me headaches, the sunlight flashing on my armor cooked me up like a harvest day goose, and those magnificent destriers shit everywhere. Not that I am complaining. Compared to the hospitality I enjoyed in the Vale of Arryn, drums, horseshit, and fly bites are my favourite things."

Littlefinger laughed. "Well said, Lannister. A man after my own heart. "

Tyrion smiled at him, remembering a certain dagger with a dragonbone hilt and a Valyrian steel blade. We must have a talk about that, and soon. He wondered if Lord Petyr would find that subject amusing as well. "Please," he told them, "do let me be of service, in whatever small way I can."

Cersei read the letter again. "How many men have you brought with you? "

"A few hundred. My own men, chiefly. Father was loath to part with any of his. He is fighting a war, after all."

"What use will your few hundred men be if Renly marches on the city, or Stannis sails from Dragonstone? Or Jon Targaryen marches through the Kingsroad evading our father? I ask for an army and my father sends me a dwarf. The king names the Hand, with the consent of council. Joffrey named our lord father."

"And our lord father named me."

"He cannot do that. Not without Joff's consent."

"Lord Tywin is at Harrenhal with his host, if you'd care to take it up with him," Tyrion said politely. "My lords, perchance you would permit me a private word with my sister?"

Varys slithered to his feet, smiling in that unctuous way he had. "How you must have yearned for the sound of your sweet sister's voice. My lords, please, let us give them a few moments together. The woes of our troubled realm shall keep."

Janos Slynt rose hesitantly and Grand Maester Pycelle ponderously, yet they rose. Littlefinger was the last. "Shall I tell the steward to prepare chambers in Maegor's Holdfast?"

"My thanks, Lord Petyr, but I will be taking Lord Stark's former quarters in the Tower of the Hand."

Littlefinger laughed. "You're a braver man than me, Lannister. You do know the fate of our last two Hands?"

"Two? If you mean to frighten me, why not say four?"

"Four?" Littlefinger raised an eyebrow. "Did the Hands before Lord Arryn meet some dire end in the Tower? I'm afraid I was too young to pay them much mind."

"Aerys Targaryen's last Hand was killed during the Sack of King's Landing, though I doubt he'd had time to settle into the Tower. He was only Hand for a fortnight. The one before him was burned to death. And before them came two others who died landless and penniless in exile, and counted themselves lucky. I believe my lord father was the last Hand to depart King's Landing with his name, properties, and parts all intact."

"Fascinating," said Littlefinger. "And all the more reason I'd sooner bed down in the dungeon."

Perhaps you'll get that wish, Tyrion thought, but he said, "Courage and folly are cousins, or so I've heard. Whatever curse may linger over the Tower of the Hand, I pray I'm small enough to escape its notice."

Janos Slynt laughed, Littlefinger smiled, and Grand Maester Pycelle followed them both out, bowing gravely.

"I hope Father did not send you all this way to plague us with history lessons," his sister said when they were alone.

"How I have yearned for the sound of your sweet voice," Tyrion sighed to her.

"How I have yearned to have that eunuch's tongue pulled out with hot pincers," Cersei replied. "Has father lost his senses? Or did you forge this letter?" She read it once more, with mounting annoyance. "Why would he inflict you on me? I wanted him to come himself." She crushed Lord Tywin's letter in her fingers. "I am Joffrey's regent, and I sent him a royal command!"

"And he ignored you," Tyrion pointed out. "He has quite a large army, he can do that. Nor is he the first. Is he?"

Cersei's mouth tightened. He could see her colour rising. "If I name this letter a forgery and tell them to throw you in a dungeon, no one will ignore that, I promise you."

He was walking on rotten ice now, Tyrion knew. One false step and he would plunge through. "No one," he agreed amiably, "least of all our father. The one with the army. But why should you want to throw me into a dungeon, sweet sister, when I've come all this long way to help you?"

"I do not require your help. It was our father's presence that I commanded."

"Yes," he said quietly, "but its Jaime you want."

His sister fancied herself subtle, but he had grown up with her. He could read her face like one of his favourite books, and what he read now was rage, and fear, and despair. "Jaime-"

"-is my brother no less than yours," Tyrion interrupted. "Give me your support and I promise you, we will have Jaime freed and returned to us unharmed."

"How?" Cersei demanded. "The Targaryen boy and his Stark family are not like to forget that we beheaded Lord Eddard."

"True," Tyrion agreed, "yet you still hold his daughters, don't you? I saw the older girl out in the yard with Joffrey."

"Sansa," the queen said. "I've given it out that I have the younger brat as well, but it's a lie. I sent Meryn Trant to take her in hand when Robert died, but her wretched dancing master interfered and the girl fled. No one has seen her since. Likely she's dead. A great many people died that day."

Tyrion had hoped for both Stark girls, but he supposed one would have to do. Jon was smart, and he knew his friend – if they could be called that – would not trade for Sansa when he had this much leverage. "Tell me about our friends on the council."

His sister glanced at the door. "What of them?"

"Father seems to have taken a dislike to them. When I left him, he was wondering how their heads might look on the wall beside Lord Stark's." He leaned forward across the table. "Are you certain of their loyalty? Do you trust them?"

"I trust no one," Cersei snapped. "I need them. Does Father believe they are playing us false?"

"Suspects, rather."

"Why? What does he know?"

Tyrion shrugged. "He knows that your son's short reign has been a long parade of follies and disasters. That suggests that someone is giving Joffrey some very bad counsel."

Cersei gave him a searching look. "Joff has had no lack of good counsel. He's always been strong-willed. Now that he's king, he believes he should do as he pleases, not as he's bid."

"Crowns do queer things to the heads beneath them," Tyrion agreed. "This business with Eddard Stark... Joffrey's work? "

The queen grimaced. "He was instructed to pardon Stark, to allow him to take the black. The man would have been out of our way forever, and we might have made peace with that son of his, but then that stupid man proclaimed his bastard as Rhaegar's son and heir to the Iron Throne but Joff took it upon himself because he thought to give the mob a better show. What was I to do? He called for Lord Eddard's head in front of half the city as they called out for Stark's life to be saved. And Janos Slynt and Ser Ilyn went ahead blithely and shortened the man without a word from me!" Her hand tightened into a fist. "The High Septon claims we profaned Baelor's Sept with blood, after lying to him about our intent."

"It would seem he has a point," said Tyrion. "So this Lord Slynt, he was part of it, was he? Tell me, whose fine notion was it to grant him Harrenhal and name him to the council?"

"Littlefinger made the arrangements. We needed Slynt's gold cloaks. Eddard Stark was plotting with Renly and he'd written to Lord Stannis, offering him the throne. Well, too bad now he switched his views for his nephew. We might have lost all. Even so, it was a close thing. If Sansa hadn't come to me and told me all her father's plans..."

Tyrion was surprised. "Truly? His own daughter?" Sansa had always seemed such a sweet child, tender and courteous.

"The girl was wet with love. She would have done anything for Joffrey, until he cut off her father's head and called it mercy. That put an end to that."

"His Grace has a unique way of winning the hearts of his subjects," Tyrion said with a crooked smile.

"Was it Joffrey's wish to dismiss Ser Barristan Selmy from his Kingsguard too?"

Cersei sighed. "Joff wanted someone to blame for Robert's death. Varys suggested Ser Barristan. Why not? It gave Jaime command of the Kingsguard and a seat on the small council, and allowed Joff to throw a bone to his dog. He is very fond of Sandor Clegane. We were prepared to offer Selmy some land and a tower house, more than the useless old fool deserved."

"I hear that useless old fool slew two of Slynt's gold cloaks when they tried to seize him at the Mud Gate."

His sister looked very unhappy. "Janos should have sent more men. He is not as competent as might be wished."

"Ser Barristan was the Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard," Tyrion reminded her pointedly. "He and Jaime are the only survivors of Aerys Targaryen's seven. The smallfolk talk of him in the same way they talk of Serwyn of the Mirror Shield and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. What do you imagine they'll think when they see Barristan the Bold riding beside Jon Targaryen or Stannis Baratheon? I strongly think he has gone to Jon now, for the Targaryen heir and claimant."

Cersei glanced away. "I had not considered that."

"Father did," said Tyrion. "That is why he sent me. To put an end to these follies and bring your son to heel."

"Joff will be no more tractable for you than for me."

"He might."

"Why should he?"

"He knows you would never hurt him."

Cersei's eyes narrowed. "If you believe I'd ever allow you to harm my son, you're sick with fever."

Tyrion sighed. She'd missed the point, as she did so often. "Joffrey is as safe with me as he is with you," he assured her, "but so long as the boy feels threatened, he'll be more inclined to listen." He took her hand. "I am your brother, you know. You need me, whether you care to admit it or no. Your son needs me, if he's to have a hope of retaining that ugly iron chair."

His sister seemed shocked that he would touch her. "You have always been cunning."

"In my own small way." He grinned.

"It may be worth the trying... but make no mistake, Tyrion. If I accept you, you shall be the King's Hand in name, but my Hand in truth. You will share all your plans and intentions with me before you act, and you will do nothing without my consent. Do you understand?"

"Oh, yes."

"Do you agree?"

"Certainly," he lied. "I am yours, sister." For as long as I need to be. "So, now that we are of one purpose, we ought to have no more secrets between us. You say Joffrey had Lord Eddard killed, Varys dismissed Ser Barristan, and Littlefinger gifted us with Lord Slynt. Who murdered Jon Arryn?"

Cersei yanked her hand back. "How should I know?"

"The grieving widow in the Eyrie seems to think it was me, though Jon and Robb Stark convinced his mother otherwise. Where did she come by that notion, I wonder?"

"I sure I don't know. That fool Eddard Stark accused me of the same thing. He hinted that Lord Arryn suspected or... well, believed."

"That you were fucking our sweet Jaime?"

She slapped him.

"Did you think I was as blind as Father?" Tyrion rubbed his cheek. "Who you lie with is no matter to me... although it doesn't seem quite just that you should open your legs for one brother and not the other."

She slapped him for the second time.

"Be gentle, Cersei, I'm only jesting with you. If truth be told, I'd sooner have a nice whore. I never understood what Jaime saw in you, apart from his reflection."

She slapped him for the final time.

His cheeks were red and burning, yet he smiled. "If you keep doing that, I may get angry."

That stayed her hand. "Why should I care if you do?"

"I have some new friends," Tyrion confessed. "You won't like them at all. How did you kill Robert?"

"He did that himself. All we did was help. When Lancel saw that Robert was going after boar, he gave him strong wine. His favourites sour red, but fortified, three times as potent as he was used to. The great stinking fool loved it. He could have stopped swilling it down anytime he cared to, but no, he drained one skin and told Lancel to fetch another. The boar did the rest. You should have been at the feast, Tyrion. There has never been a boar so delicious. They cooked it with mushrooms and apples, and it tasted like triumph."

"Truly, sister, you were born to be a widow." Tyrion had rather liked Robert Baratheon, great blustering oaf that he was... doubtless in part because his sister loathed him so. "Now, if you are done slapping me, I will be off." He twisted his legs around and clambered down awkwardly from the chair.

Cersei frowned. "I haven't given you leaved to depart. I want to know how you intend to free Jaime."

"I'll tell you when I know. Schemes are like fruit, they require a certain ripening. Right now, I have a mind to ride through the streets and take the measure of this city." Tyrion rested his hand on the head of the sphinx beside the door. "One parting request. Kindly make certain no harm comes to Sansa Stark. It would not do to lose both the daughters."

"Have you heard what happened at the Red Fork?" Cersei said as he waddled to the door.

"As I approached King's Landing. I never thought I would hear Ser Gregor Clegane retreating from battle, for the giant man he is. I heard the Stark-Tully losses mainly came from him."

It was a defeat for his father, but Tyrion was sure Lord Tywin could manage. He had been quite surprised himself that Jon knew where Clegane was. Had he decided to play it smart, to his chest? There were rumours coming out of Riverrun that left Tyrion incredulous.

"Apparently, other houses responded to the letter that Jon Targaryen sent out. Some included our father's bannerman, and even Lord Renly's men and the ones who remained neutral." Cersei said.

"Father will deal with the traitors when he wins." Tyrion assured her.

"I hope you know what you are doing, brother," Cersei said. "I still remember that you were friends with Targaryen. Do not let that compromise your loyalty to our house."

"He is the greatest threat to your house if we let him be, even more than Renly or Stannis. Do not worry sister. A Lannister always pays his debts, and my loyalty is to my house above all else." Tyrion did not doubt his words, but sometimes, he wondered.

An hour later, Tyrion rode from the Red Keep accompanied by a dozen Lannister guardsmen in crimson cloaks and lion-crested half helms. As they passed beneath the portcullis, he noted the heads mounted atop the walls. Black with rot and old tar, they had long since become unrecognizable. "

Captain Vylarr," he called, "I want those taken down on the morrow. Give them to the silent sisters for cleaning." It would be hell to match them with the bodies, he supposed, yet it must be done. Even in the midst of war certain decencies needed to be observed.

Vylarr grew hesitant. "His Grace has told us he wishes the traitors' heads to remain on the walls until he fills those last four empty spikes there on the end."

"Let me hazard a wild stab. One is for Jon Targaryen, then Robb Stark, the others for Lords Stannis and Renly. Would that be right?"

"Yes, my lord."

"My nephew is fourteen years old today, Vylarr. Try and recall that. I'll have the heads down on the morrow, or one of those empty spikes may have a different lodger. Do you take my meaning, Captain?"

"I'll see that they're taken down me, my lord."

"Good." Tyrion put his heels into his horse and trotted away, leaving the red cloaks to follow as best they could.

He had told Cersei he intended to take the measure of the city. That was not entirely a lie. Tyrion Lannister was not pleased by much of what he saw. The streets of King's Landing had always been teeming and raucous and noisy, but now they reeked of danger in a way that he did not recall from past visits.

A naked corpse sprawled in the gutter near the Street of Looms, being torn at by a pack of feral dogs, yet no one seemed to care. Watchmen were much in evidence, moving in pairs through the alleys in their gold cloaks and shirts of black ringmail, iron cudgels never far from their hands. The markets were crowded with ragged men selling their household goods for any price they could get... and conspicuously empty of farmers selling food. What little produce he did see was three times as costly as it had been a year ago. one peddler was hawking rats roasted on a skewer.

"Fresh rats," he cried loudly, "fresh rats." Doubtless fresh rats were to be preferred to old stale rotten rats. The frightening thing was, the rats looked more appetizing than most of what the butchers were selling. on the Street of Flour, Tyrion saw guards at every other shop door. When times grew lean, even bakers found sellswords cheaper than bread, he reflected.

"There is no food coming in, is there?" he said to Vylarr.

"Little enough," the captain admitted. "With the war in the Riverlands and Lord Renly raising rebels in Highgarden, the roads are closed to south and west."

"And what has my good sister done about this?"

"She is taking steps to restore the king's peace," Vylarr assured him. "Lord Slynt has tripled the size of the City Watch, and the queen has put a thousand craftsmen to work on our defences. The stonemasons are strengthening the walls, carpenters are building scorpions and catapults by the hundred, fletchers are making arrows, the smiths are forging blades, and the Alchemists' Guild has pledged ten thousand jars of wildfire."

Tyrion shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. He was pleased that Cersei had not been idle, but wildfire was treacherous stuff, and ten thousand jars were enough to turn King's entire Landing into cinders.

"Where has my sister found the coin to pay for all of this?" it was no secret that King Robert had left the crown vastly in debt, and alchemists were seldom mistaken for altruists.

"Lord Littlefinger always finds a way, my lord. He has imposed a tax on those wishing to enter the city."

"Yes, that would work," Tyrion said, thinking, Clever. Clever and cruel. Tens of thousands had fled the fighting for the supposed safety of King's Landing. He had seen them on the kingsroad, troupes of mothers and children and anxious fathers who had gazed on his horses and wagons with covetous eyes. Once they reached the city they would doubtless pay over all they had to put those high comforting walls between them and the war... though they might think twice if they knew about the wildfire.

The inn beneath the sign of the broken anvil stood within sight of those walls, near the Gate of the Gods where they had entered that morning. As they rode into its courtyard, a boy ran out to help Tyrion down from his horse. "Take your men back to the castle," he told Vylarr. "I'll be spending the night here."

The captain looked dubious. "Will you be safe, my lord?"

"Well, as to that, Captain, when I left the inn this morning it was full of Black Ears. One is never quite safe when Chella daughter of Cheyk is about." Tyrion waddled toward the door, leaving Vylarr to puzzle at his meaning.

A gust of merriment greeted him as he shoved into the inn's common room. He recognized Chella's throaty chuckle and the lighter music of Shae's laughter. The girl was seated by the hearth, sipping wine at a round wooden table with three of the Black Ears he'd left to guard her and a plump man whose back was to him. The innkeeper, he assumed... until Shae called Tyrion by name and the intruder rose.

"My good lord, I am so pleased to see you," he gushed, a soft eunuch's smile on his powdered face.

Tyrion stumbled. "Lord Varys. I had not thought to see you here." The Others take him, how did he find them so quickly?

"Forgive me if I intrude," Varys said. "I was taken by a sudden urge to meet your young lady."

"Young lady," Shae repeated, savouring the words. "You're half right, m'lord. I'm young."

Eighteen, Tyrion thought. Eighteen, and a whore, but quick of wit, nimble as a cat between the sheets, with large dark eyes and fine black hair and a sweet, soft, hungry little mouth... and mine!

Damn you, eunuch. "I fear I'm the intruder, Lord Varys," he said with forced courtesy. "When I came in, you were in the midst of some merriment."

"M'lord Varys complimented Chella on her ears and said she must have killed many men to have such a fine necklace," Shae explained. It grated on him to hear her call Varys m'lord in that tone; that was what she called him in their pillow play. "And Chella told him only cowards kill the vanquished."

"Braver to leave the man alive, with a chance to cleanse his shame by winning back his ear," explained Chella, a small dark woman whose grisly neck-ware was hung with no less than forty-six dried wrinkled ears. Tyrion had counted them once. "Only so can you prove you do not fear your enemies."

Shae hooted. "And then m'lord says if he was a Black Ear he'd never sleep, for dreams of one-eared men."

"A problem I will never need face," Tyrion said. "I'm terrified of my enemies, so I kill them all."

Varys giggled. "Will you take some wine with us, my lord?"

"I'll take some wine." Tyrion seated himself beside Shae. He understood what was happening here, if Chella and the girl did not. Varys was delivering a message. When he said, I was taken by a sudden urge to meet your young lady, what he meant was, You tried to hide her, but I knew where she was, and who she was, and here I am. He wondered who had betrayed him. The innkeeper, that boy in the stable, a guard on the gate... or one of his own?

"I always like to return to the city through the Gate of the Gods," Varys told Shae as he filled the wine cups. "The carvings on the gatehouse are exquisite, they make me weep each time I see them. The eyes... so expressive, don't you think? They almost seem to follow you as you ride beneath the portcullis."

"I never noticed, m'lord," Shae replied. "I'll look again on the morrow, if it pleases you."

_Don't bother, Sweetling,_ Tyrion thought, swirling the wine in the cup. He cares not a whit about carvings. The eyes he boasts of are his own. What he means is that he was watching that he knew we were here the moment we passed through the gates.

"Do be careful, child," Varys urged. "King's Landing is not wholly safe these days. I know these streets well, and yet I almost feared to come today, alone and unarmed as I was. Lawless men are everywhere in this dark time, oh, yes. Men with cold steel and colder hearts." Where I can come alone and unarmed, others can come with swords in their fists, he was saying.

Shae only laughed. "If they try and bother me, they'll be one ear short when Chella runs them off."

Varys hooted as if that was the funniest thing he had ever heard, but there was no laughter in his eyes when he turned them on Tyrion. "Your young lady has an amiable way to her. I should take very good care of her if I were you."

"I intend to. Any man who tries to harm her- well, I'm too small to be a Black Ear, and I make no claims to courage." See? I speak the same tongue you do, eunuch. Hurt her, and I'll have your head.

"I will leave you." Varys rose. "I know how weary you must be. I only wished to welcome you, my lord, and tell you how very pleased I am by your arrival. We have dire need of you on the council. Have you seen the comet? "

"I'm short, not blind," Tyrion said. Out on the kingsroad, it had seemed to cover half the sky, outshining the crescent moon.

"In the streets, they call it the Red Messenger," Varys said. "Some call in the sign of the Red Dragon King. They say it comes as a herald before a king, to warn of fire and blood to follow. Of the Targaryens, Baratheons and Lannisters."

"May I leave you with a bit of a riddle, Lord Tyrion?" He did not wait for an answer. "In a room sit three great men, a king, a priest, and a rich man with his gold. Between them stand a sellsword, a little man of common birth and no great mind. Each of the great ones bids him slay the other two. 'Do it' says the king, 'for I am your lawful ruler.' 'Do it' says the priest, 'for I command you in the names of the gods.' 'Does it' say the rich man, 'and all this gold shall be yours.' So tell me-who lives and who dies?"

"The man with the gold," Tyrion said, unsure. Varys only smiled. "We have much to talk, my lord. Much to talk."

Bowing deeply, the eunuch hurried from the common room on soft slipperier feet.

Tyrion went to Shae and spent his night with her, pondering what Varys had said. There was much work to be done in King's Landing if they were to win this war of four kings. The city needed to be defended, and justice needed to be served.

**Cateyln**

The crown on her nephew's head shone like the red sun during an eclipse, and it seemed to Catelyn Stark that the weight of it pressed heavy on Jon's head, though she knew it was no the weight that made Jon anxious. He looked tall, regal and very handsome, and Cateyln thought he did in fact look like his father as he waited to do his duty.

The crowns of the old Targaryen dynasty had been all different in shape, size and appearance. Aegon the First's, worn by three other kings who thought themselves conquerors, had been a simple circle made of Valyrian steel, set with big, red rubies, while the boastful and lustful Aegon the Unworthy had made a new crown when had become too fat and prideful, huge and heavy, red gold, each of its points a dragon head. Each crown was different, and each represented their wearer for who they were. Where the ancient crowns of the Targaryen kings were kept in the Red Keep, Cateyln did not know nor did she care. Robert's crown itself had been golden, shaped like the antlers of a stag and encrusted with black diamonds.

The crown worn by her nephew enchanted her with its harsh and passionate beauty. Whichever smith Varys had worked with had done his job very well, as if looked like a crown made for a true ruler: an open circlet made of valyrian steel coloured bronze-black, with red-and-black ripples through the metal. It was incised with the spells and runes of the ancient freeholders of Old Valyria and each incision seem to be glowing dimly in the light. Surmounted by nine scarlet steel spikes in the shapes of diamonds, each set with a gemstone to represent the great houses.

_Possibly, Jon needs to chip off the ruby lion when the war is done, _Cateyln thought.

As they waited in Riverrun's Great Hall for the prisoner to be brought before them, she saw Jon push back the crown so it rested upon his thick dark brown hair; moments later, he moved it forward again; later he gave it a quarter turn, as if that might make it sit more easily on his brow. It is no easy thing to wear a crown, Catelyn thought, watching, especially for a young man of sixteen years. He was a man in the sight of the gods and men, thought in truth she could not think of him other than when he was in his teens.

Cateyln had been glad that he had decided not to bring his dragon – gods, she had never expected to ever say those words – to this gathering, and for she knew it would only strengthen the uneasiness and fear the lords had shown when they had first laid their eyes on the white, winged-beast. Even Greatjon had backed away in shock, his hands in the air and bellowing curses. Other lords had even brought out their steel, to the sharp reprisal of their king, who was treasuring and raising the dragon like his own child.

When she first seen the dragon, Cateyln had been stunned in silence, and had almost fainted if her son hadn't put his arm around her shoulder to steady her shaking knees. The chamber where Jon had resided, where the white dragon had been born to the puzzlement of Maester Vyman, had been tarnished and covered with ash and cinder, charred books and bedrolls, scorched clothes. The room had been made unliveable, and neither Jon nor Robb were refusing to share how when the king was escorted to his new chambers. The dragon, its name Cateyln was unaware of as of yet, was being cared for by Jon's female servants in her nephew's bedroom. Cateyln had seen the dragon only yesterday when Jon had returned with Robb from the Red Ford, and to her, the winged beast was only growing bigger in length and size.

Jon had taken the dragon easier than she had thought. He seemed both mystified and charmed by the dragon, and seemed reluctant to leave it when he was called for a meeting three days ago, the day after his coronation. From the few Valyrian words he had learnt from Scurian, he had attempted to make the dragon breathe fire, but to no avail. He had left Cateyln and Lyanna to care for it, with her good sister likening her opinion of the dragon to her son, and even stroking its head. The dragon seemed to enjoy her touch, and Lyanna had later told her the scales felt smooth, but hard and strong. Cateyln herself barely made eye contact with the black eyed beast, knitting furiously.

When the prisoner had been called, Jon straightened up in his throne - a large chair similar to the ancient throne of the King's of Winter, a seat of cold, dark stone, polished smooth by countless hands and servants. One of the massive arms held a the carved head of snarling direwolf at the end, while the other arm held the head of a dragon. Jon clasped the them as he breathed slowly.

Jon called for his sword. Lucas Blackwood, his squire and twenty-one year old son of Lord Tytos Blackwood offered it up hilt first, and her son drew the blade and laid it bare across his knees, a threat plain for all to see. "Your Grace, here is the man you asked for," announced Ser Robin Ryger, captain of the Tully household guard.

"Kneel before the king, Lannister!" Theon Greyjoy shouted. Ser Robin forced the prisoner to his knees.

He did not look a lion, Catelyn reflected. This Ser Cleos Frey was a son of the Lady Genna who was sister to Lord Tywin Lannister, but he had none of the fabled Lannister beauty, the fair hair and green eyes. Instead he had inherited the stringy brown locks, weak chin, and thin face of his sire, Ser Emmon Frey, old Lord Walder's second son. His eyes were pale and watery and he could not seem to stop blinking, but perhaps that was only the light. The cells below Riverrun were so dark and damp... and these days crowded as well.

"Ser Cleos, rise," Cateyln was surprised at the ice in his voice, similar to her husband's whenever he commanded his men. He sounded older, wiser, and harder than before.

War had made a man of him before his time. Morning light glimmered faintly against the edge of the steel across his knees.

Yet it was not the sword that made Ser Cleos Frey anxious; it was the direwolf, Ghost. A direwolf large as any elkhound and bigger than his siblings, lean with white fur, with eyes the colour of crimson, of blood. When the beast padded forward and sniffed at the captive knight, every man in that hall could smell the scent of fear as Grey Wind joined him in his search for the fear. Ser Cleos had been taken during the battle in the Whispering Wood, where Ghost with Grey Wind had ripped out the throats of almost a hundred men together.

The knight scrambled up, edging away with such alacrity that some of the watchers laughed aloud. "Thank you, my lord."

"Your Grace, Lannister," barked Lord Umber, the Greatjon, ever the loudest of Robb's and Jon's northern bannermen... and the truest and fiercest as well, or so he insisted. He had been the first to proclaim her nephew the King of the Dragons, and he would brook no slight to the honor of his king.

"And the king," Ser Brynden of the Kingsguard said coldly, her uncle gleamed in his red-and-blue armour and the black cloak draped over his shoulders. "The Rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Your Grace," Ser Cleos corrected hastily. "Pardons."

He is not a bold man, this one, Catelyn thought. More of a Frey than a Lannister, in truth. His cousin the Kingslayer would have been a much different matter. They would never have gotten that honorific through Ser Jaime Lannister's perfect teeth. Cateyln remembered that Jon had talked with the Kingslayer before, and it seemed to change something in him.

"I brought you from your cell to carry my message to your cousin Cersei Lannister in King's Landing. You'll travel under a peace banner, with thirty of my best men to escort you."

Ser Cleos was visibly relieved, though his eyes were still wary of the white wolf. Poor man, imagine if he had seen the dragon. "Then I should be most glad to bring His Grace's message to the queen."

"Understand," Jon said, his purple eyes casting Ser Cleos a look of mild disdain, no trace of friendlessness. "I am not giving you your freedom, understand that very carefully. Your grandfather Lord Walder Frey pledged my cousin and I his support and that of House Frey. Many of your cousins and uncles rode with us in the Whispering Wood, but you chose to fight beneath the lion banner. That makes you a Lannister, not a Frey, and in my eyes, that makes all the difference in the world right now. I want your pledge, on your honor as a knight, which after you deliver my message you'll return with the queen and her bastard son's reply, and resume your captivity."

"On whatever honour a Lannister can muster that is. That is, none," Lyanna muttered beside her. Several lords chuckled near them.

Ser Cleos answered at once. "I do so vow."

"Every man in this hall has heard you," warned Catelyn's Brother Ser Edmure Tully, who spoke for Riverrun and the lords of the Trident in the place of their dying father. "If you do not return, the whole realm will know you forsworn."

"I will do as I pledged," Ser Cleos replied stiffly. "What is this message?"

"An offer of peace." Jon stood with his longsword in hand. Ghost moved to his side in silence. The hall turned quiet. "Tell the Queen Regent that if she meets my terms, I will sheath this sword, and make an end to the war between us."

It was not technically peace terms Jon was offering. In fact, Jon had even told Cateyln and his mother that the terms and conditions he was offering were more of the conditions the Lannisters would expect if they were to surrender.

In the back of the hall, Catelyn glimpsed the tall, gaunt figure of Lord Rickard Karstark attempt shove through a rank of guards and out the door, but his son Torrhen stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. No one else moved. Jon paid the disruption no mind. "Lucas, the paper," he commanded. The squire took his longsword and handed up a rolled parchment.

Jon unrolled it. "First, the queen must release my cousins and provide them with transport by sea from King's Landing to White Harbor. It is to be understood that Sansa's betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon is at an end. When I receive word from the castellan that my sisters have returned unharmed to Winterfell, I will release the queen's cousins, the squire Willem Lannister and your brother Tion Frey, and give them safe escort to Casterly Rock or wheresoever she desires them delivered."

Of course, the Lannisters had neglected the tell them that Arya was 'missing' from their custody, so Cateyln was glad he did not mention that they knew that she was not with the Queen and her son. No doubt Scurian De Aquarian had suggested that move. That man and Barium had been proving useful for what they had told Jon they would do for him.

"Secondly, my lord uncle's bones will be returned to us, so he may rest beside his brother and father in the crypts beneath Winterfell, as he would have wished. The remains of the men of his household guard who died in his service at King's Landing must also be returned."

Living men had gone south, and cold bones would return. Ned had the truth of it, she thought. His place was at Winterfell, he said as much, but would I hear him? No. Go, I told him, you must be Robert's Hand, for the good of our House, for the sake of our children... my doing, mine, no other...

"Third, my uncle's greatsword Ice will be delivered to Lord Robb Stark's hand, here at Riverrun."

She watched her brother Ser Edmure Tully as he stood with his thumbs hooked over his sword belt, his face as still as stone.

"Fourth, the queen will command her father Lord Tywin to release those knights and lords bannermen of mine that he took captive in the battle on the Green Fork of the Trident. Once he does so, I shall release my own captives taken in the Whispering Wood and the Battle of the Camps, save Jaime Lannister alone, who will remain my hostage, for his father's good behaviour."

She studied Theon Greyjoy's sly smile, wondering what it meant. That young man had a way of looking as though he knew some secret jest that only he was privy to; Catelyn had never liked it.

"Lastly, King Joffrey and the Queen Regent must renounce all claims and holdings of the Iron Throne and dominion over all the Seven Kingdoms: The North, The Riverlands, the Vale, The Westerlands, the Iron Islands, the Reach, the Stormlands, Dorne and the Crownlands, and everything bordering the continent and apart of this realm. Henceforth, the Baratheon dynasty of Westeros is at an end, the Targaryen dynasty resuming its rulership and governance of the realm. Joffrey Baratheon will either suffer death by beheading, or he may take the black – the choice is up to him. Cersei Lannister, for the crimes of incest, treason, murder and adultery, will be given three choices: Joining the Silent Sisters, choosing to be my hostage or being kept in Casterly Rock for the rest of her days under strict guard.

"Tommen and Myrcella Baratheon shall become my wards until they are sixteen, and from then will be exiled to the Free Cities with enough provisions and gold to last them the rest of their days. The name Baratheon will be stripped from their titles and name as well as the rank of Prince and Princess, as they are not the trueborn children of King Robert Baratheon. History will remember them as the bastard children of Cersei and Jaime Lannister. Lord Tywin Lannister must renounce and revoke his lordship of Casterly Rock and will either be given the choice as my hostage or taking the black. Tyrion Lannister shall be given the Rock as the befitting the heir, though the titles of Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West shall be stripped from House Lannister. Also, the gold owed by the Iron Throne to Casterly Rock shall be forgiven, and the Iron Throne shall take three quarters of the gold from the mines in Castamere, Pendric Hills and Casterly Rock, to compensate the river lords and the losses of their lands, as well as my northern lords and for the use of the Iron Throne to rebuild this kingdom."

"Good terms, I say." Lord Varner said.

"We will tell the Lannister's were to suck it!" Lord Ashford shouted.

"KING OF THE DRAGONS!" boomed Greatjon Umber, a ham-sized fist hammering at the air as he shouted. "Targaryen. Targaryen! The Dragon King!"

The other began chanting alongside him. Cateyln felt a smile creep on her lips.

Jon rolled up the parchment. "You shall have a copy for the queen. Lord Tywin must withdraw from the Riverlands, and cease his raiding, burning, and pillage. Additionally, the Lannisters shall deliver ten highborn hostages, to be mutually agreed upon, as a pledge of peace. These I will treat as honoured guests, according to their station. So long as the terms of this pact are abided with faithfully, I shall release two hostages every year, and return them safely to their families."

Jon walked down the stairs to the middle of the room with the parchment in hand, where Ser Cleos knelt. The Frey knight looked up at her nephew in fear. "There are the terms. If she meets them, I'll give her peace. If not…well," Jon gestured to the lords present and smiled darkly. "My lords and I will teach her something she will never forget. A personal lesson. In fact, her entire family shall receive this lesson. If she does not accept my terms, tell her than winter comes for the Lannisters, with fire and blood." He said, now unsmiling, and tossed the paper to the knight's feet.

"TARGARYEN!" the Greatjon roared again, and now others took up the cry. "Targaryen. Targaryen. King of the Dragons. The White Dragon!" Ghost watched the knight with blood eyes of dripping blood.

Ser Cleos had gone the colour of curdled milk. "The queen shall hear your message, my-Your Grace."

"Excellent," Jon said. "Ser Robin, see that he has a good meal and clean clothing. He's to ride at first light."

"As you command, Your Grace," Ser Robin Ryger replied.

Jon turned to Robb. "Is there anything else that is required?"

Robb nodded. "Nothing that is needed to be presented in this hall, but the scout who you spoke with after the battle had returned with the men you asked for. Well, at least one of them."

Jon bobbed his head in reply, though Cateyln had no idea what they were talking about.

"Then we are done." The assembled knights and lords' bannermen bent their knees as Jon turned to leave, Ghost at his heels. Lucas Blackwood scrambled ahead to open the door. Robb followed with Olyvar Frey. Lyanna Stark followed him next, then Cateyln with her brother at her side.

"You did really well," Lyanna told her son in the gallery that led from the rear of the hall, "Though you should not have brought Ghost into the hall. It was more fitting to evoke fear for a boy than a king."

Jon scratched both Grey Wind and Ghost's ears. Robb's direwolf nipped at Jon's legs playfully. "Did you see the look on his face, Mother?" he asked, smiling.

Lyanna sighed. "What we all saw was Lord Karstark almost walk out if not for Torrhen."

"As did I. Though Lord Karstark is a smarter man than you think. He understands that we need to give the Lannister's some clemency." Jon lifted his crown with both hands and gave it to Lucas. "Take this back to my bedchamber."

"At once, Your Grace," Lucas hurried off, muttering to himself as he admired the crown. During the feast after the coronation ceremony, Lord Tytos Blackwood had talked with Jon in private about what he has talked with him earlier, about taking one of his son's as a squire. Jon had consented and has chosen the eager and loyal Lucas Blackwood, who was also friends with Jon and Robb and the second son.

"I'll wager there were others who felt the same as Lord Karstark," her brother Edmure declared. "How can we talk of peace while the Lannisters spread like a pestilence over my father's domains, stealing his crops and slaughtering his people? The Battle at the Red Fork has given us time, but then Clegane will be at it again. I say again, we should hold our invasion of the Westerlands and we ought to be marching on Harrenhal."

Robb agreed. "We have the strength."

"Yes, I know we have the numbers now. I would like to march on Harrenhal, but we are not prepared to engage Lord Tywin directly," Jon said evenly. "Not yet, at least."

Edmure persisted. "Do we grow stronger sitting here? Our host dwindles every day."

"And whose doing is that?" Catelyn snapped at her brother. It had been at Edmure's insistence that Jon had given the river lords leave to depart after his crowning, each to defend his own lands. Ser Marq Piper and Lord Karyl Vance had been the first to go. Lord Jonos Bracken had followed, vowing to reclaim the burnt shell of his castle and bury his dead, and now Lord Jason Mallister had announced his intent to return to his seat at Seagard, still mercifully untouched by the fighting, after he completed the big task that Jon had set out for him at Cateyln's insistence.

"You cannot ask my river lords to remain idle while their fields are being pillaged and their people put to the sword," Ser Edmure said, "but Lord Karstark is a Northman. It would be an ill thing if he were to leave us."

"He will not leave us, Edmure," Jon said. "He still has Torrhen who will never forgive his father if he left us, and Harrion is a captive of the Lannisters. I'll speak with him, however. He lost a son in the Whispering Wood. It is common sense if he does not want to make peace with his son's killers."

"It would have been better if you offered better terms for their surrender." Cateyln said.

"They should count themselves fortunate that I am even offering terms," Jon said coldly.

"If you do not mean for us to march on Harrenhal, then we should begin organising our remaining forces in Riverrun for the Westerlands campaign as Barium suggested. Now is the time to strike," Robb said. "Ever since you put out the letter, our numbers have been slowly increasing with every passing day even as the river lords leave to reclaim the Trident."

What her son said was true. On the morning of Jon's coronation, numerous noble houses – not sworn to Winterfell or Riverrun – had responded to the letter that Jon had sent out all across Westeros, and many had arrived at the gates of the Tully stronghold with their individual fighting strength that wonderful day, pledging their fealty, allegiance and support to Jon Targaryen.

A handful Westerlands houses had written back to Riverrun in agreement, and the others with savage denials and hot refusals. House Algood, House Doggett, House Drox, House Farman of Faircastle, House Garner and House Plumm, with each of the six houses bringing an estimate of around two hundred or three hundred men, with the total estimate to being about three thousand and fifty.

A good start, as most of the Westerlands strength was at Harrenhal. Cateyln was surprised about the Farman's, since some years after Lord Tywin defeated the Tarbecks and the Reynes, Lord Farman of Faircastle grew truculent. Tywin just sent him as an envoy a music playing "The Rains of Castamere", and that was enough to make Lord Farman reconsider his position.

A majority of the newcomers had originated from the Reach – houses that had sworn to the Tyrell's who believed Jon was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Some of these nobles were vassals of the Hightower's as well. That had not really come as a shock, since most of the Reach still had ties with the Targaryens. Even with all these houses at Jon side, Renly still had the most men out of everyone.

These houses included: House Appleton, House Ashford, House Costayne, House Varner, House Ball, House Bridges, House Conkyln, House Durwell, House Graves, House Hastwyck, House Hutcheson, House Kidwell of Ivy Hall, House Lowther, House Lyberr, House Middlebury, House Orme, House Stackhouse, House Rhysling, House Roxton, House Sloane and House Westbrook. Jon's men had done a count and estimated that they had brought him around seventeen thousand men.

Even from the Stormlands, a handful of houses had come to Jon Targaryen's to support his claim, most prominent being House Connington, House Selmy, House Dondarrion (its lord now the leader of the Brotherhood without Banners) and House Musgood. All in all, the total strength that was brought in was about a thousand or so.

The sheer number of houses that came to Riverrun had surprised Cateyln in a good way, though she had agreed with Jon's wariness for she had come to realise that some houses may still be in league with Tywin or Renly. She had not expected so many to support Jon's claim so soon, and by all reports more were coming on their way. Even a few houses in Dorne had declared for Jon, particularly House Yronwood, House Allyrion and House Dayne of Starfall, and by some readings, these houses were marching to Riverrun as they spoke. Cateyln did not how to feel about the Dayne's. She had known that Ashara Dayne had loved her husband and he had loved her when they were young. Cateyln knew that such love did not just simply fade away.

"Cersei Lannister will never consent to trade Sansa and 'Arya' for a pair of cousins. It's her brother she'll want, as you know full well." She found herself saying, and had told him as much before.

"Yes, I know she wants her lover. I can't release the Kingslayer. He is a valuable hostage to give away."

"Your lords made you their king."

"Half your lords would like to murder Lannister in his cell. If he should die while he's your prisoner, men will say-"

"-that he well deserved it," Robb finished.

"And your sisters?" Catelyn turned sharply to him. "Will they deserve their deaths as well? I promise you, if any harm comes to her brother, Cersei will pay us back blood for blood-"

"Lannister won't die," Robb said. "No one so much as speaks to him without Jon's warrant. He has food, water, clean straw, more comfort than he has any right to. But we won't free him, not even for Sansa."

Her son was looking down at her, Catelyn realized. Was it war that made him grow so fast, she wondered, or the responsibilities he had?

"Are you afraid to have Jaime Lannister in the field again; is that the truth of it?" She challenged Robb.

"I don't-"

Jon coughed. "Shut up Robb."

Grey Wind growled, as if he sensed Robb's anger, and Edmure Tully put a brotherly hand on Catelyn's shoulder. "Cat, don't. The boy has the right of this."

"Don't call me the boy," Robb said, rounding on his uncle, his anger spilling out all at once on poor Edmure, who had only meant to support him. "I'm almost a man grown. And I don't fear Jaime Lannister. Jon defeated him once, he can defeat him again. And I will be there to support him and command the field for my king."

Robb pushed a fall of hair out of his eyes and gave a shake of the head. "We might have been able to trade the Kingslayer for Father, but..."

"...but not for Sansa?" Her voice was icy quiet. "A girl is not important enough, are they?"

Robb made no answer, but there was hurt in his eyes. Blue eyes, Tully eyes, eyes she had given him. She had wounded him, but he was too much his father's son to admit it.

That was unworthy of me, she told herself. Gods be good, what is to become of me? I know it, I see it, and yet... I have lost my Ned, the rock my life was built on, I could not bear to lose the girls as well... oh Arya, where are you?

Jon and Lyanna watched Cateyln and her son talk carefully, not daring to interrupt. That was something that Jon had gotten from his mother – the ability to listen with his eyes and look with his ears.

"We will do all that we can for Sansa," Robb said. "If the queen has any sense, she'll accept my king's terms. If not, I'll make her rue the day she refused Jon's offer."

Plainly, he'd had enough of the subject. "Mother, are you certain you will not consent to go to the Twins? You would be farther from the fighting, and you could acquaint yourself with Lord Frey's daughters to help me choose my bride when the war is done."

He wants me gone, Catelyn thought wearily. Lords are not supposed to have mothers, it would seem, and I tell him things he does not want to hear. Only Jon will hear them, it seems. He is a king, and he keeps Lyanna here as well as me. Why doesn't Robb trust me anymore?

"You're old enough to decide which of Lord Walder's girls you prefer without your mother's help, Robb."

"Then go with Jason Mallister. He leaves on the morrow. He will be escorting that lot of captives to Seagard, then burying his son at his hold, and then will take ship for the Iron Islands. You could find a ship as well, and be back at Winterfell with a moon's turn, if the winds are kind. Bran and Rickon need you."

And you do not, is that what you mean to say? "My lord father has little enough time remaining him. So long as your grandfather lives, my place is at Riverrun with him."

"Again, I still think we should be sending Theon to treat with Lord Balon," Robb said sullenly.

"And again, I will say that it is better to send someone else, and keep Theon close to us." Jon replied.

"Who better to treat with Balon Greyjoy than his son?" Robb frowned.

"Anyone. Jason Mallister is a good choice by Jon. Tytos Blackwood, Stevron Frey, Lord Jonos Bracken, Lord Algood, Lord Varner…anyone, but Theon." Cateyln offered.

Her son squatted beside Grey Wind, ruffling the wolf's fur and incidentally avoiding her eyes. He seemed to be talking with Jon now. "Theon's fought bravely for us. I told you how he saved Bran from those wildlings in the wolfswood. If the Lannisters won't make peace, we'll have need of Lord Greyjoy's longships."

"Robb, Theon is my friend too, and I will always care about him," Jon said. "Though we will have those ships sooner if we keep his son as a hostage."

At least Jon could see sense. Cateyln never had really trusted Greyjoy like Robb or Jon had, but it was not personal and more to do with his father.

Robb stood, "He's been a hostage half his life."

"For good reason," Lyanna said. "Balon Greyjoy is not a man to be trusted. He wore a crown himself, remember, if only for a season. He may aspire to wear one again, to undermine my son's rule."

Jon said, "You know, I will not grudge him that once I come into my throne. Honestly, I could not give a damn about the Iron Islands and would have almost forgotten about that kingdom if people didn't constantly bring them up. If he wants to is King of the Iron Islands and the Isles, then so being it, as long as he grants me use of his ships. Once the war is over, the Iron Islands shall be a free and independent kingdom, removed from the rule of the Iron Throne. I shall make no claim, incomes or services to their people, and shall leave them alone. I will even extend their kingdom's borders if he would like."

"Are you sure that is wise?" Cateyln asked.

"As long as he discontinues the Ironborn way of reavings, pillaging and rapine, I will have no problems. I honestly do not care, as long as he gives me command of his ships."

"Jon-"

"I'm sending Mallister, Robb. Do not question my decision," He then sighed and his voice became a lighter tone. "Now, did you do as I asked from before?"

"Yes," Robb huffed. "I sent the scarce remaining ravens to Deepwood Motte, Winterfell, Torrhen's Square, Moat Cailin, Cape Kraken and the Bear Island. I have told them to begin fortifying their defences and to properly garrison their strongholds as you asked. Also, Howland Reed has gone back to Moat Cailin to defend it."

"That is a shame," Lyanna said wistfully. "I would have liked to have seen Howland again."

"Good," Jon said. "What about the men you are sending back?"

"Hang on, why you would be sending back men. We barely have enough as it is." Lyanna asked.

"With the extra strength we have received from the other houses, especially the Reachmen, I have more than enough men, trained by Barium even as we speak, to invade the Westerlands," Jon explained. "My aunt was telling me the other day about Balon Greyjoy, and somehow, I suspect he might take this opportunity to crown himself king instead of following another into battle. Ser Brynden and Lord Doggett told me he might either chose to attack the North or the Westerlands. My money is on the North. If he proves himself a traitor, then the North will need to be ready."

"How many northern men are you sending back, Jon?" Cateyln asked.

Jon hesistated. "Twenty thousand strong, five thousand to hold Winterfell and Torrhen's square, five thousand to hold Deepwood Motte, two thousand to guard White Harbour and the rest to strengthen the durance of Moat Cailin. All going today."

"That is way too much," Edmure protested. "We need the northmen."

"I would have no problem sending them if you hadn't convinced me to send the river lords across the Trident." Jon snapped. Edmure paled.

_The King of the Dragons, _Cateyln thought, _God's, how much stress do we put him through. He is trying his best, and his best is far more than I had ever hoped. He knows what he's doing, my Jon. _Cateyln wondered all of a sudden if Jon would ever take a lover during this war. Sex was considered a stress reliever by many, and Jon would sure need to have his mind settled. Kings had been known to take lovers and mistresses before. And that Valera girl was attractive.

_No, me and my thoughts, _Cateyln scolded herself. _Jon would never do that, never. He is too much my husband's son, even if he is not from Eddard's seed. He would never lay with another woman, even if he was not married. And I consider him my own child as well in temperament. _

Jon breathed out and rubbed his forehead. Cateyln realised all of a sudden how much he had grown over the past few weeks. All the training and the battles had changed his appearance. He was no longer lean, but was muscular and becoming broader in shoulder's, but with a slender frame. He was at the almost the same height as Robb, and the royal robes he wore made him look bigger than life. But still, he was only sixteen, and Robb and him were trying to act like men.

Jon turned to Edmure. "The Brotherhood scout that we encountered in Lord Harroway's Town is present in the waiting halls, with the man I asked to see. Tell them that I will receive them in an hour's time in the private audience chamber above the Great Hall."

"Yes, you're Grace." Edmure

"Who?" Cateyln asked.

"Once Clegane had ordered a regroup to the Red Fork, a scouting band of Lord Beric Dondarrion's outlaw group approached us from the shadows. Apparently, they had seen us save the town, and were watching us as we helped the smallfolk rebuild and gather their things."

Robb said, "It was Jon's idea. He did not want to leave the people of the town helpless and stationed from our host a few hundred men to protect the town from another party. The band was impressed by Jon's capacity to help the smallfolk that they joined us in defeat the Mountain."

"Once we had the Mountain retreating to Harrenhal, Jon went back to the town and ordered the soldier's to help rebuilding everything that has been destroyed, or at least salvage enough. Jon provided some food, water, clothes and grain for them to stockpile." Edmure said.

"Wait, so is the Brotherhood without Banner's on our side?" Lyanna asked.

"No, mother," Jon shook his head. "They are neutral, now at least. I hope that since Dondarrion's house has flocked to my banners, he might be more committed to our cause…but at least he is helping us indirectly."

"How?"

"I will explain later, I promise," Jon smiled at his mother before turning to the others. "My mind has been set. Jason Mallister is being sent, and the northmen are going back home to defend it from supposed invaders. If anyone should have need to me before the hour is done, I will be in my bedchamber tending to Winter,"

" Wait, Winter who?" Cateyln asked.

"His dragon," Robb answered.

_Alright, _Catelyn thought. _Why not?_

Jon took out a letter from his pocket and handed it to Edmure. "Please, give this to Maester Vyman and tell him to place this with his quickest raven to be sent to Dorne."

"Have you made up your mind, Jon?" Edmure asked as he pocketed his letter.

"I still have time to consider my options," Jon was talking about marriage. "All is not lost yet."

He motioned for his mother. "Mother, could you walk with me to my chambers?"

Lyanna practically beamed like the sun. She loved her son so much, Cateyln realized. "Of course."

"Good," Jon nodded briefly to Robb, Cateyln and Edmure. Good day, aunt. Ghost, come." He walked away with Lyanna at his arm, the direwolf padding beside him.

Catelyn could only watch him go. Her dear nephew, and now her king. How queer that felt."

"The Battle at the Red Fork saved us all," Edmure said. "My people have suffered greatly under the attacks by the Mountain, Lorch and the Brave Companions. It is good Jon sent back the river lords to reclaim their homes, after leading Clegane away. Restoring order in case the remaining bandits and raiders become a problem again."

Cateyln was surprised. "I did not think that the battle was that influential."

"It was, mother. Forcing him back to Harrenhal has let the Riverlands escape a rather grisly fate it might have come too. That we have hindered Tywin's plans. Plus we have Dondarrion and his men."

"How exactly did that come to pass?" Cateyln asked.

"Jon made them a deal for rewards they would receive when he assumed the throne. Full pardons of 'crimes' by the Brotherhood and knighthoods all around, as well as reimbursement of gold and silver. Also he would make them an official law enforcers with the support of the crown not just in the Riverlands, but the entirety of Westeros. A band of brothers, if you will. Jon is not allowed to hurt or have the smallfolk raped or bloodied, but as if he would do that even before."

"In exchange?"

"Dondarrion and his outlaw band will attack the Lannister raiders, supply lines and solider's near Harrenhal and and the areas surrounding the east of the Riverlands. He will also be on the look out for the Night's Watch group that Arya and Barristan Selmy are located in." Robb said.

"It seems Varys' warning help us all."

"Clegane and Lorch can still raid, but with less impunity than before. Well make them work and struggle for their victories." Edmure said.

"I am going to visit Father," she announced abruptly. "Come with me, Edmure, Robb."

"I need to have a word with those new bowmen Ser Desmond is training, and then I need to give this letter to Maester Vyman later. I'll visit him later."

"I can do that for you, Edmure," Cateyln said.

"Jon asked me to do it," Edmure hesitated. "I would rather do my own job."

"What about you Robb? You have barely talked with your grandfather since you arrived." Cateyln turned towards her son.

Robb pursed his lips. "I must talk with my northern lords before they send a quarter of their men back home, and then I will speak with the Reachmen and Westerlands houses of Jon's behalf. I will go visit him with Edmure. Later."

If he still lives, Catelyn thought, but she said nothing. Her brother and son would sooner face battle than that sickroom.

The shortest way to the central keep where her father lay dying was through the godswood, with its grass and wildflowers and thick stands of elm and redwood. A wealth of rustling leaves still clung to the branches of the trees, all ignorant of the word the white raven had brought to Riverrun a fortnight past. Autumn had come, the Conclave had declared, but the gods had not seen fit to tell the winds and woods as yet. For that Catelyn was duly grateful. Autumn was always a fearful time, with the spectre of winter looming ahead. Even the wisest man never knew whether his next harvest would be the last.

Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, lay abed in his solar, with its commanding view to the east where the rivers Tumblestone and Red Fork met beyond the walls of his castle. He was sleeping when Catelyn entered, his hair and beard as white as his featherbed, his once portly frame turned small and frail by the death that grew within him.

Beside the bed, still dressed in mail hauberk and travel-stained cloak, sat her father's brother, the Blackfish. His boots were dusty and spattered with dried mud. "Does Jon know you are returned, Uncle?" Ser Brynden Tully was Jon's eyes and ears, the commander of his scouts and outriders. As well as his Kingsguard knight, Jon has assigned him other duties at the Blackfish's insistence.

"No. I came here straight from the stables, when they told me the king was holding court. His Grace will want to hear my tidings in private first I'd think." The Blackfish was a tall, lean man, grey of hair and precise in his movements, his clean-shaven face lined and windburn. "How is he?" he asked, and she knew he did not mean Jon.

"Much the same. The maester gives him dream wine and milk of the poppy for his pain, so he sleeps most of the time, and eats too little. He seems weaker with each day that passes."

"Does he speak?"

"Yes... but there is less and less sense to the things he says. He talks of his regrets, of unfinished tasks, of people long dead and times long past. Sometimes he does not know what season it is, or who I am. Once he called me by Mother's name."

"He misses her still," Ser Brynden answered. "You have her face. I can see it in your cheekbones and your jaw..."

"You remember more of her than I do. It has been a long time." She seated herself on the bed and brushed away a strand of fine white hair that had fallen across her father's face.

"Each time I ride out, I wonder if I shall find him alive or dead on my return." Despite their quarrels, there was a deep bond between her father and the brother he had once disowned.

"At least you made your peace with him."

They sat for a time in silence, until Catelyn raised her head. "You spoke of tidings that Jon needed to hear?" Lord Hoster moaned and rolled onto his side, almost as if he had heard.

Brynden stood. "Come outside. Best if we do not wake him."

She followed him out onto the stone balcony that jutted three-sided from the solar like the prow of a ship. Her uncle glanced up, frowning. "You can see it by day now. My men call it the Red Messenger... but what is the message?"

Catelyn raised her eyes, to where the faint red line of the comet traced a path across the deep blue sky like a long scratch across the face of god. "The Greatjon told Robb and Jon that the old gods have unfurled a red flag of vengeance for Ned. Edmure thinks it's an omen of victory for Riverrun, as you can see a fish with a long tail, in the Tully colours, red against blue." She sighed. "I wish I had their faith. Crimson is a Lannister colour."

"That thing's not crimson," Ser Brynden said. "Nor Tully red, the mud red of the river. That's blood up there, child, smeared across the sky. It is the blood of House Targaryen. The colour looks like the red of Jon's red-on-black banners. It could be the blood colour of Jon's victory, or just…blood."

"Our blood or theirs?"

"Was there ever a war where only one side bled?" Her uncle gave a shake of the head. "The Riverlands are awash in blood and flame all around the Gods Eye, but that is about it. The fighting has spread south to the Blackwater and north across the Trident, almost to the Twins. Marq Piper and Karyl Vance have won some small victories, and this southern lordling Beric Dondarrion has been raiding the raiders, falling upon Lord Tywin's foraging parties and vanishing back into the woods. It's said that Ser Burton Crakehall was boasting that he'd slain Dondarrion, until he led his column into one of Lord Beric's traps and got every man of them killed."

"Dondarrion? Jon just spoke of him earlier. He said that Dondarrion was willing to treat with my nephew for his brave actions to the small folk during the Battle at the Red Fork, and Jon wants the Brotherhood without Banners to help them."

"Really? Then the king is in luck. Having that outlaw group on our side could really help us."

"Some of Ned's guard from King's Landing are with this Lord Beric," Catelyn suddenly recalled. "Let the gods preserve them all."

"Dondarrion and this red priest who rides with him – I believe he is the one at Riverrun - are clever enough to preserve themselves, if the tales be true. If they want to live longer, then they would wise to bend the knee to Jon," her uncle said, "And it was good that Jon defeated Clegane on the battlefield and forced him to retreat. It has saved the Riverlands from the devastation as we predicted. And Jon let the river lords defend their holdings faster than I thought. It certainly saved them from destruction As Jon let them go to reclaim their lands, most have been successful. Jonos Bracken was wounded in the fighting amidst his castle, but otherwise, his holdings and his family are fine. Tytos Blackwood's swept the Lannisters off his lands and retained most, if not all, his cows, pigs and grain. Darry men recaptured their lord's keep and I believe they have arranged for their lord to be married to one of the river lord's daughter's when he is of age. The Darry line is not secure at all. It is fortunate Jon defeated Clegane before he could descend upon them, for that was his next move."

"The Battle at the Red Fork saved many lives, it would seem," Cateyln said. Jon was doing the best he could, but from the way some of his bannermen spoke of him, he might have been Aegon the Conqueror reborn. He was his descendant after all.

"Tywin Lannister is no man's fool. He sits safe behind the walls of Harrenhal, feeding his host on our harvest and burning what he does not take. Gregor is not the only dog he's loosed. Ser Amory Lorch is in the field as well, and some sellsword out of Qohor who'd sooner maim a man than kill him. I've seen what they leave behind them. We are beating them Cat, but I think Tywin will attack again but he will be cautious." Blackfish said

"And that will be just as Lord Tywin desires. Even terror has its purpose, Cat. Lannister wants to provoke us to battle."

"Jon will never give him that satisfaction," Cateyln insisted. "Robb is restless as a cat sitting here, and Edmure and the Greatjon and the others will urge Jon on. But Jon is a cautious king who will not risk it."

Brynden Blackfish arched a bushy grey eyebrow. "More fool they are. They should listen to their king. My first rule of war, Cat-never give the enemy his wish. Lord Tywin would like to fight on a field of his own choosing. He wants us to march on Harrenhal."

"Harrenhal." Every child of the Trident knew the tales told of Harrenhal, the vast fortress that King Harren the Black had risen beside the waters of Gods Eye three hundred years past, when the Seven Kingdoms had been seven kingdoms, and the Riverlands were ruled by the ironmen from the islands. In his pride, Harran had desired the highest hall and tallest towers in all Westeros. Forty years it had taken, rising like a great shadow on the shore of the lake while Harren's armies plundered his neighbours for stone, lumber, gold, and workers. Thousands of captives died in his quarries, chained to his sledges, or labouring on his five colossal towers. Men froze by winter and sweltered in summer. Weirwoods that had stood three thousand years were cut down for beams and rafters. Harren had beggared the Riverlands and the Iron Islands like tournament his dream. And when at last Harrenhal stood complete, on the very day King Harren took up residence, Aegon the Conqueror had come ashore at King's Landing.

Catelyn could remember hearing Old Nan tell the story to her own children, back at Winterfell. "And King Harren learned that thick walls and high towers are small use against dragons," the tale always ended. "For dragons fly." Harren and all his line had perished in the fires that engulfed his monstrous fortress, and every house that held Harrenhal since had come to misfortune. Strong it might be, but it was a dark place, and cursed.

"Jon has a dragon with him now," Cateyln said. "Until that is fully grown, it could go either way."

"Then we must pray for the white dragon to grow as big as Balerion the Black Dread, and quickly." Brynden said gravely.

"I will not have my children fighting a battle in the shadow of Harrenhal," Cateyln admitted. "Yet we must do something, Uncle."

"And soon," her uncle agreed. "I have not told you the worst of it, child. The men I sent west have brought back word that a new host is gathering at Casterly Rock."

Another Lannister army. The thought made her ill. "Jon must be told at once. Who will command?"

"Ser Stafford Lannister, it's said." He turned to gaze out over the rivers, his red-and-blue cloak stirring in the breeze.

"Another nephew?" The Lannisters of Casterly Rock were a damnably large and fertile house.

"Cousin," Ser Brynden corrected. "Brother to Lord Tywin's late wife, so twice related. An old man and a bit of a dullard, but he has a son, Ser Daven, who is more formidable."

"Then let us hope it is the father and not the son who takes this army into the field."

"We have some time yet before we must face them. This lot will be sellswords, free riders, and green boys from the stews of Lannisport. Ser Stafford must see that they are armed and drilled before he dare risk battle... and make no mistake; Lord Tywin is not the Kingslayer. He will not rush in heedless. He will wait patiently for Ser Stafford to march before he stirs from behind the walls of Harrenhal."

"And that is why Jon and Robb are invading the Westerlands, to draw the bastard out." Cateyln said. "Unless..."

"Yes?" Ser Brynden prompted.

"Unless he must leave Harrenhal before that," she said, "to face some other threat."

Her uncle looked at her thoughtfully. "Lord Renly."

"King Renly." If she would ask help from the man, she would need to grant him the style he had claimed for himself.

"Perhaps." The Blackfish smiled a dangerous smile. "He'll want something, though."

"He'll want what kings always want," she said. "Homage."

"Jon will never bend the knee to Renly, nor will any of his lords allow him. He is Stannis' younger, and Lord Stark denounced the Baratheons."

"So we must make _Renly Baratheon_ bend the knee."

"Sweet niece, you know that will never happen. The Baratheon's and Targaryens do not have a…pleasant relationship. Renly was only a child during the war."

"They are kin," Cateyln argued. "Through Aegon the Unlikely. Distant cousins perhaps, but the Targaryen and Baratheon ties are still there."

"Renly is too proud like his brother, to bend the knee."

"King Stannis is a lost cause with the Red Priestess whispering in his ear. It is the rest of us I am worried about now. We must try at least. If Renly Baratheon and Stannis Baratheon pay fealty to Jon, then the war is as good as done."

"That will never happen." Ser Brynden warned.

"Then we must pray…and take action."

**Davos **

The morning air was dark with the smoke of burning gods.

They were all afire now, Maid and Mother, Warrior and Smith, the Crone with her pearl eyes and the Father with his gilded beard; even the Stranger, carved to look more animal than human. The old dry wood and countless layers of paint and varnish blazed with a fierce hungry light. Heat rose shimmering through the chill air; behind, the gargoyles and stone dragons on the castle walls seemed blurred, as if Davos were seeing them through a veil of tears. Or as if the beasts were trembling, stirring...

"An ill thing," Allard declared, though at least he had the sense to keep his voice low. Dale muttered agreement.

"Silence," said Davos. "Remember where you are." His sons were good men, but young, and Allard especially was rash. Had I stayed a smuggler, Allard would have ended on the Wall. Stannis spared him from that end, something else I owe him...

Hundreds had come to the castle gates to bear witness to the burning of the Seven. The smell in the air was ugly. Even for soldiers, it was hard not to feel uneasy at such an affront to the gods most had worshiped all their lives.

The red woman walked round the fire three times, praying once in the speech of Asshai, once in High Valyrian, and once in the Common Tongue. Davos understood only the last. "R'hllor, come to us in our darkness," she called. "Lord of Light, we offer you these false gods, these seven who are one, and him the enemy. Take them and cast your light upon us, for the night is dark and full of terrors." Queen Selyse echoed the words. Beside her, Stannis watched impassively, his jaw hard as stone under the blue-black shadow of his tight-cropped beard, his blue eyes dark and clouded. He had dressed more richly than was his wont, as if for the sept.

Dragonstone's sept had been where Aegon the Conqueror knelt to pray the night before he sailed. That had not saved it from the queen's men. They had overturned the altars, pulled down the statues, and smashed the stained glass with warhammers. Septon Barre could only curse them, but Ser Hubard Rambton led his three sons to the sept to defend their gods. The Rambtons had slain four of the queen's men before the others overwhelmed them. Afterward Guncer Sunglass, mildest and most pious of lords, told Stannis he could no longer support his claim. Now he shared a sweltering cell with the septon and Ser Hubard's two surviving sons. The other lords had not been slow to take the lesson.

The gods had never meant much to Davos the smuggler, though like most men he had been known to make offerings to the Warrior before battle, to the Smith when he launched a ship, and to the Mother whenever his wife grew great with child. He felt ill as he watched them burn, and not only from the smoke.

Maester Cressen would have stopped this. The old man had challenged the Lord of Light and been struck down for his impiety, or so the gossips told each other. Davos knew the truth. He had seen the maester slip something into the wine cup. Poison. What else could it be? He drank a cup of death to free Stannis from Melisandre, but somehow her god shielded her. He would gladly have killed the red woman for that, yet what chance would he have where a maester of the Citadel had failed? He was only a smuggler raised high, Davos of Flea Bottom, the Onion Knight. Maester Cressen has only said the truth, that they should join with Jon Targaryen and his armies at Riverrun to defeat the Lannisters.

The burning gods cast a pretty light, wreathed in their robes of shifting flame, red and orange and yellow. Septon Barre had once told Davos how they'd been carved from the masts of the ships that had carried the first Targaryens from Valyria. Over the centuries, they had been painted and repainted, gilded, silvered, and jeweled. "Their beauty will make them more pleasing to R'hllor," Melisandre said when she told Stannis to pull them down and drag them out the castle gates.

The Maiden lay athwart the Warrior, her arms widespread as if to embrace him. The Mother seemed almost to shudder as the flames came, licking up her face. A longsword had been thrust through her heart, and its leather grip was alive with flame. The Father was on the bottom, the first to fall. Davos watched the hand of the Stranger writhe and curl as the fingers blackened and fell away one by one, reduced to so much glowing charcoal. Nearby, Lord Celtigar coughed fitfully and covered his wrinkled face with a square of linen embroidered in red crabs. The Myrmen swapped jokes as they enjoyed the warmth of the fire, but young Lord Bar Emmon had turned a splotchy grey, and Lord Velaryon was watching the king rather than the conflagration.

Davos would have given much to know what he was thinking, but one such as Velaryon would never confide in him. The Lord of the Tides was of the blood of ancient Valyria, and his House had thrice provided brides for Targaryen princes; Davos Seaworth stank of fish and onions. It was the same with the other lordlings. He could trust none of them, nor would they ever include him in their private councils. They scorned his sons as well. My grandsons will joust with theirs, though, and one day their blood may wed with mine. In time my little black ship will fly as high as Velaryon's seahorse or Celtigar's red crabs.

That is, if Stannis won his throne. If he lost...

Everything I am, I owe to him. Stannis had raised him to knighthood. He had given him a place of honor at his table, a war galley to sail in place of a smuggler's skiff. Dale and Allard captained galleys as well, Maric was oarmaster on the Fury, Matthos served his father on Black Betha, and the king had taken Devan as a royal squire. One day he would be knighted, and the two little lads as well. Marya was mistress of a small keep on Cape Wrath, with servants who called her m'lady, and Davos could hunt red deer in his own woods. All this he had of Stannis Baratheon, for the price of a few finger joints. It was just, what he did to me. I had flouted the king's laws all my life. He has earned my loyalty. Davos touched the little pouch that hung from the leather thong about his neck. His fingers were his luck, and he needed luck now. As do we all. Lord Stannis most of all.

Pale flames licked at the grey sky. Dark smoke rose, twisting and curling. When the wind pushed it toward them, men blinked and wept and rubbed their eyes. Allard turned his head away, coughing and cursing. A taste of things to come, thought Davos. Many and more would burn before this war was done.

Melisandre was robed all in scarlet satin and blood velvet, her eyes as red as the great ruby that glistened at her throat as if it too were afire. "In ancient books of Asshai it is written that there will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him." She lifted her voice, so it carried out over the gathered host. "Azor Ahai, beloved of R'hllor! The Warrior of Light, the Son of Fire! Come forth, your sword awaits you! Come forth and take it into your hand!"

Stannis Baratheon strode forward like a soldier marching into battle. His squires stepped up to attend him. Davos watched as his son Devan pulled a long padded glove over the king's right hand. The boy wore a cream-colored doublet with a fiery heart sewn on the breast. Bryen Farring was similarly garbed as he tied a stiff leather cape around His Grace's neck. Behind, Davos heard a faint clank and clatter of bells. "Under the sea, smoke rises in bubbles, and flames burn green and blue and black," Patchface sang somewhere. "I know, I know, oh, oh, oh."

The king plunged into the fire with his teeth clenched, holding the leather cloak before him to keep off the flames. He went straight to the Mother, grasped the sword with his gloved hand, and wrenched it free of the burning wood with a single hard jerk. Then he was retreating, the sword held high, jade-green flames swirling around cherry-red steel. Guards rushed to beat out the cinders that clung to the king's clothing.

"A sword of fire!" shouted Queen Selyse. Ser Axell Florent and the other queen's men took up the cry. "A sword of fire! It bums! It burns! A sword of fire!"

Melisandre lifted her hands above her head. "Behold. A sign was promised, and now a sign is seen! Behold Lightbringer! Azor Ahai has come again! All hail the Warrior of Light! All hail the Son of Fire!"

A ragged wave of shouts gave answer, just as Stannis's glove began to smolder. Cursing, the king thrust the point of the sword into the damp earth and beat out the flames against his leg.

"Lord, cast your light upon us!" Melisandre called out.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors," Selyse and her queen's men replied. Should I speak the words as well? Davos wondered. Do I owe Stannis that much? Is this fiery god truly his own? His shortened fingers twitched.

Stannis peeled off the glove and let it fall to the ground. The gods in the pyre were scarcely recognizable anymore. The head fell off the Smith with a puff of ash and embers. Melisandre sang in the tongue of Asshai, her voice rising and falling like the tides of the sea. Stannis untied his singed leather cape and listened in silence. Thrust in the ground, Lightbringer still glowed ruddy hot, but the flames that clung to the sword were dwindling and dying.

By the time the song was done, only charwood remained of the gods, and the king's patience had run its course. He took the queen by the elbow and escorted her back into Dragonstone, leaving Lightbringer where it stood. The red woman remained a moment to watch as Devan knelt with Byren Farring and rolled up the burnt and blackened sword in the king's leather cloak. The Red Sword of Heroes looks a proper mess, thought Davos.

A few of the lords lingered to speak in quiet voices upwind of the fire. They fell silent when they saw Davos looking at them. Should Stannis fall, they will pull me down in an instant. Neither was he counted one of the queen's men, that group of ambitious knights and minor lordlings who had given themselves to this Lord of Light and so won the favor and patronage of Lady-no, Queen, remember?- Selyse.

The fire had started to dwindle by the time Melisandre and the squires departed with the precious sword. Davos and his sons joined the crowd making its way down to the shore and the waiting ships. "Devan acquitted himself well," he said as they went.

"He fetched the glove without dropping it, yes," said Dale.

Allard nodded. "That badge on Devan's doublet, the fiery heart, what was that? The Baratheon sigil is a crowned stag."

"A lord can choose more than one badge," Davos said.

Dale smiled. "A black ship and an onion, Father?"

"That too." Davos said, smiling.

"Joffrey Water's has taken the golden lion halved with the crowned stag, not that he should. Jon Targaryen's personal banner is a three-headed dragon halved with a direwolf, combatant – to signify the union of Stark and Targaryen. Father you agree, that we should join with the White Dragon."

Davos nodded. He still believed Stannis as his rightful king however.

Allard kicked at a stone. "The Others take our onion... and that flaming heart...and Jon Targaryen. It was an ill thing to burn the Seven."

"When did you grow so devout?" Davos said. "What does a smuggler's son know of the doings of gods?"

"I'm a knight's son, Father. If you won't remember, why should they? "

"A knight's son, but not a knight," said Davos. "Nor will you ever be, if you meddle in affairs that do not concern you. Stannis is our rightful king; it is not for us to question him. We sail his ships and do his bidding. That is all."

"As to that, Father," Dale said, "I dislike these water casks they've given me for Wraith. Green pine. The water will spoil on a voyage of any length."

"I got the same for Lady Marya," said Allard. "The queen's men have laid claim to all the seasoned wood."

"I will speak to the king about it," Davos promised. Better it come from him than from Allard. His sons were good fighters and better sailors, but they did not know how to talk to lords. They were lowborn, even as I was, but they do not like to recall that. When they look at our banner, all they see is a tall black ship flying on the wind. They close their eyes to the onion.

The port was as crowded as Davos had ever known it. Every dock teemed with sailors loading provisions, and every inn was packed with soldiers dicing or drinking or looking for a whore... a vain search, since Stannis permitted none on his island. Ships lined the strand; war galleys and fishing vessels, stout carracks and fat-bottomed cogs. The best berths had been taken by the largest vessels: Stannis's flagship Fury rocking between Lord Steffon and Stag of the Sea, Lord Velaryon's silverhulled Pride of Driftmark and her three sisters, Lord Celtigar's ornate Red Claw, the ponderous Swordfish with her long iron prow. Out to sea at anchor rode Salladhor Saan's great Valyrian amongst the striped hulls of two dozen smaller Lysene galleys.

A weathered little inn sat on the end of the stone pier where Black Betha, Wraith, and Lady Marya shared mooring space with a half-dozen other galleys of one hundred oars or less. Davos had a thirst. He took his leave of his sons and turned his steps toward the inn. Out front squatted

a waist-high gargoyle, so eroded by rain and salt that his features were all but obliterated. He and Davos were old friends, though. He gave a pat to the stone head as he went in. "Luck," he murmured.

Across the noisy common room, Salladhor Saan sat eating grapes from a wooden bowl. When he spied Davos, he beckoned him closer. "Ser knight, come sit with me. Eat a grape. Eat two. They are marvelously sweet." The Lyseni was a sleek, smiling man whose flamboyance was a byword on both sides of the narrow sea. Today he wore flashing cloth-ofsilver, with dagged sleeves so long the ends of them pooled on the floor. His buttons were carved jade monkeys, and atop his wispy white curls perched a jaunty green cap decorated with a fan of peacock feathers.

Davos threaded his way through the tables to a chair. In the days before his knighthood, he had often bought cargoes from Salladhor Saan. The Lyseni was a smuggler himself, as well as a trader, a banker, a notorious pirate, and the self-styled Prince of the Narrow Sea. When a pirate grows rich enough, they make him a prince. It had been Davos who had made the journey to Lys to recruit the old rogue to Lord Stannis's cause.

"You did not see the gods burn, my lord?" he asked.

"The red priests have a great temple on Lys. Always they are burning this and burning that, crying out to their R'hllor. They bore me with their fires. Soon they will bore King Stannis too, it is to be hoped." He seemed utterly unconcerned that someone might overhear him, eating his grapes and dribbling the seeds out onto his lip, flicking them off with a finger. "My Bird of Thousand Colors came in yesterday, good ser. She is not a warship, no, but a trader, and she paid a call on King's Landing. Are you sure you will not have a grape? Children go hungry in the city, it is said." He dangled the grapes before Davos and smiled.

"It's drink I need, and news."

"The men of Westeros are ever rushing," complained Salladhor Saan. "What good is this, I ask you? He who hurries through life hurries to his grave." He belched. "The Lord of Casterly Rock has sent his dwarf to see to King's Landing. Perhaps he hopes that his ugly face will frighten off attackers, eh? Or that we will laugh ourselves dead when the Imp capers on the battlements, who can say? The dwarf has chased off the lout who ruled the gold cloaks and put in his place a knight with an iron hand." He plucked a grape, and squeezed it between thumb and forefinger until the skin burst. juice ran down between his fingers.

A serving girl pushed her way through, swatting at the hands that groped her as she passed. Davos ordered a tankard of ale, turned back to Saan, and said, "How well is the city defended?"

The other shrugged. "The walls are high and strong, but who will man them? They are building scorpions and spitfires, oh, yes, but the men in the golden cloaks are too few and too green, and there are no others. A swift strike, like a hawk plummeting at a hare, and the great city will be ours. Grant us wind to fill our sails, and your king could sit upon his Iron Throne by evenfall on the morrow. We could dress the dwarf in motley and prick his little cheeks with the points of our spears to make him dance for us, and mayhaps your goodly king would make me a gift of the beautiful Queen Cersei to warm my bed for a night. I have been too long away from my wives, and all in his service."

"Pirate," said Davos. "You have no wives, only concubines, and you have been well paid for every day and every ship."

"Only in promises," said Salladhor Saan mournfully. "Good ser, it is gold I crave, not words on papers." He popped a grape into his mouth.

"You'll have your gold when we take the treasury in King's Landing. No man in the Seven Kingdoms is more honourable than Stannis Baratheon. He will keep his word." Even as Davos spoke, he thought, This world is twisted beyond hope, when lowborn smugglers must vouch for the honor of kings.

"So he has said and said. And so I say, let us do this thing. Even these grapes could be no ripe than that city, my old friend."

The serving girl returned with his ale. Davos gave her a copper. "Might be we could take King's Landing, as you say," he said as he lifted the tankard, "but how long would we hold it? Tywin Lannister is known to be at Harrenhal with a great host and Lord Renly..."

"Ah, yes, the young brother," said Salladhor Saan. "That part is not so good, my friend. King Renly bestirs himself. No, here he is Lord Renly, my pardons. So many kings, my tongue grows weary of the word. The brother Renly has left Highgarden with his fair young queen, his flowered lords and shining knights, and a mighty host of foot. He marches up your road of roses toward the very same great city we were speaking of."

"He takes his bride?"

The other shrugged. "He did not tell me why. Perhaps he is loath to part with the warm burrow between her thighs, even for a night. Or perhaps he is that certain of his victory."

"The king must be told."

"I have attended to it, good ser. Though His Grace frowns so whenever he does see me that I tremble to come before him. Do you think he would like me better if I wore a hair shirt and never smiled? Well, I will not do it. I am an honest man, he must suffer me in silk and samite. Or else I shall take my ships where I am better loved. That sword was not Lightbringer, my friend."

The sudden shift in subject left Davos uneasy. "Sword?"

"A sword plucked from fire, yes. Men tell me things, it is my pleasant smile. How shall a burnt sword serve Stannis?"

"A buming sword," corrected Davos.

"Burnt," said Salladhor Saan, "and be glad of that, my friend. Do you know the tale of the forging of Lightbringer? I shall tell it to you. It was a time when darkness lay heavy on the world. To oppose it, the hero must have a hero's blade, oh, like none that had ever been. And so for thirty days and thirty nights Azor Ahai labored sleepless in the temple, forging a blade in the sacred fires. Heat and hammer and fold, heat and hammer and fold, oh, yes, until the sword was done. Yet when he plunged it into water to temper the steel it burst asunder.

"Being a hero, it was not for him to shrug and go in search of excellent grapes such as these, so again he began. The second time it took him fifty days and fifty nights, and this sword seemed even finer than the first. Azor Ahai captured a lion, to temper the blade by plunging it throughthe beast's red heart, but once more the steel shattered and split. Great was his woe and great was his sorrow then, for he knew what he must do.

"A hundred days and a hundred nights he labored on the third blade, and as it glowed white-hot in the sacred fires, he summoned his wife. 'Nissa Nissa' he said to her, for that was her name, 'bare your breast, and know that I love you best of all that is in this world.' She did this thing, why I cannot say, and Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart. It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel. Such is the tale of the forging of Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes.

"Now do you see my meaning? Be glad that it is just a burnt sword that His Grace pulled from that fire. Too much light can hurt the eyes, my friend, and fire bums." Salladhor Saan finished the last grape and smacked his lips. "When do you think the king will bid us sail, good ser? "

"Soon, I think," said Davos, "if his god wills it."

"His god, ser friend? Not yours? Where is the god of Ser Davos Seaworth, knight of the onion ship?"

Davos sipped his ale to give himself a moment. The inn is crowded, and you are not Salladhor Saan, he reminded himself. Be careful how you answer. "King Stannis is my god. He made me and blessed me with his trust."

"I will remember." Salladhor Saan got to his feet. "My pardons. These grapes have given me a hunger, and dinner awaits on my Valyrian. Minced lamb with pepper and roasted gull stuffed with mushrooms and fennel and onion. Soon we shall eat together in King's Landing, yes? In the Red Keep we shall feast, while the dwarf sings us a jolly tune. When you speak to King Stannis, mention if you would that he will owe me another thirty thousand dragons come the black of the moon. He ought to have given those gods to me. They were too beautiful to burn, and might have brought a noble price in Pentos or Myr. Well, if he grants me Queen Cersei for a night I shall forgive him."

Salladhor continued. "Jon Targaryen has defeated Ser Gregor Clegane at the Red Fork after leading him away from raiding towns. That distraction has provided the river lords enough time to reclaim their husks of home. A small victory, but enough to get things moving."

"I heard other houses across Westeros have joined openly with the Targaryen king." Davos said.

"Aye. Around six houses from the Westerlands and a dozen or more from the Reach, even if Lord Renly is truly or not their king, they seem to want the dragon over the stag. To prove their loyalty to the true king, it would seem. The boy is proving himself in battle, and there are strange rumours coming from Riverrun."

"What do you mean?"

"They say talks of a birth of a real, white dragon with grey wings and black eyes as dark as obsidian. In a fortnight's time, it will as long as an arm and as large as the size of a wooden box.

Ser Davos Seaworth lingered over his tankard for a good while after his friend left, thinking. A year ago, he had been with Stannis in King's Landing when King Robert staged a tourney for Prince Joffrey's name day. He remembered the red priest Thoros of Myr, and the flaming sword he had wielded in the melee. The man had made for a colourful spectacle, his red robes flapping while his blade writhed with pale green flames, but everyone knew there was no true magic to it, and in the end his fire had guttered out and Bronze Yohn Royce had brained him with a common mace.

A true sword of fire, now, that would be a wonder to behold. Yet at such a cost... When he thought of Nissa Nissa, it was his own Marya he pictured, a good-natured plump woman with sagging breasts and a kindly smile, the best woman in the world. He tried to picture himself driving a sword through her, and shuddered. I am not made of the stuff of heroes, he decided. If that was the price of a magic sword, it was more than he cared to pay.

And this dragon business, if it was true, then in a year's time, this dragon could grow into an unstoppable beast. He had heard from local fishermen that this supposed dragon was growing bigger and bigger each day, almost unnaturally.

Davos finished his ale, pushed away the tankard, and left the inn. On the way out he patted the gargoyle on the head and muttered, "Luck." They would all need it.

It was well after dark when Devan came down to Black Betha, leading a snow-white palfrey. "My lord father," he announced, "His Grace commands you to attend him in the Chamber of the Painted Table. You are to ride the horse and come at once."

It was good to see Devan looking so splendid in his squire's raiment, but the summons made Davos uneasy. Will he bid us sail? he wondered. Salladhor Saan was not the only captain who felt that King's Landing was ripe for an attack, but a smuggler must learn patience. We have no hope of victory. I said as much to Maester Cressen, the day I returned to Dragonstone, and nothing has changed. We are too few, the foes too many. If we dip our oars, we die. Nonetheless, he climbed onto the horse.

When Davos arrived at the Stone Drum, a dozen highborn knights and great bannermen were just leaving. Lords Celtigar and Velaryon each gave him a curt nod and walked on while the others ignored him utterly, but Ser Axell Florent stopped for a word.

Queen Selyse's uncle was a keg of a man with thick arms and bandy legs. He had the prominent ears of a Florent, even larger than his niece's. The coarse hair that sprouted from his did not stop him hearing most of what went on in the castle. For ten years Ser Axell had served as castellan of Dragonstone while Stannis sat on Robert's council in King's Landing, but of late he had emerged as the foremost of the queen's men. "Ser Davos, it is good to see you, as ever," he said.

"And you, my lord."

"I made note of you this morning as well. The false gods burned with a merry light, did they not?"

"They burned brightly." Davos did not trust this man, for all his courtesy. House Florent had declared for Renly.

"The Lady Melisandre tells us that sometimes R'hllor permits his faithful servants to glimpse the future in flames. It seemed to me as I watched the fire this morning that I was looking at a dozen beautiful dancers, maidens garbed in yellow silk spinning and swirling before a great king. I think it was a true vision, ser. A glimpse of the glory that awaits His Grace after we take King's Landing and the throne that is his by rights."

Stannis has no taste for such dancing, Davos thought, but he dared not offend the queen's uncle. "I saw only fire," he said, "but the smoke was making my eyes water. You must pardon me, ser, the king awaits." He pushed past, wondering why Ser Axell had troubled himself. He is a queen's man and I am the king's.

Stannis sat at his Painted Table with Maester Pylos at his shoulder, an untidy pile of papers before them. "Ser," the king said when Davos entered, "come have a look at this letter."

Obediently, he selected a paper at random. "It looks handsome enough, Your Grace, but I fear I cannot read the words." Davos could decipher maps and charts as well as any, but letters and other writings were beyond his powers. But my Devan has learned his letters, and young Steffon and Stannis as well.

"I'd forgotten." A furrow of irritation showed between the king's brows. "Pylos read it to him."

"You're Grace." The maester took up one of the parchments and cleared his throat. "All men know me for the trueborn son of Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, by his lady wife Cassana of House Estermont. I declare upon the honor of my House that my beloved brother Robert, our late king, left no trueborn issue of his body, the boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella being abominations born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother Jaime the Kingslayer. By right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty. Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms." The parchment rustled softly as Pylos laid it down.

"Make it Ser Jaime the Kingslayer henceforth," Stannis said, frowning. "Whatever else the man may be, he remains a knight. I don't know that we ought to call Robert my beloved brother either. He loved neither me no more than he had to, nor I him."

"A harmless courtesy, Your Grace," Pylos said.

"A lie. Take it out." Stannis turned to Davos. "The maester tells me that we have one hundred seventeen ravens on hand. I mean to use them all. One hundred seventeen ravens will carry one hundred seventeen copies of my letter to every corner of the realm, from the Arbor to the Wall. Perhaps a hundred will win through against storm and hawk and arrow. If so, a hundred maesters will read my words to as many lords in as many solars and bedchambers... and then the letters will like as not be consigned to the fire, and lips pledged to silence. These great lords love Joffrey, or Renly, or Jon Targaryen. I am their rightful king, but they will deny me if they can. So I have need of you."

"I am yours to command, my king. As ever."

Stannis nodded. "I mean for you to sail Black Betha north, to Gulltown, the Fingers, the Three Sisters, even White Harbor. Your son Dale will go south in Wraith, past Cape Wrath and the Broken Arm, all along the coast of Dorne as far as the Arbor. Each of you will carry a chest of letters, and you will deliver one to every port and holdfast and fishing village. Nail them to the doors of septs and inns for every man to read who can."

Davos said, "That will be few enough."

"Ser Davos speaks truly, Your Grace," said Maester Pylos. "It would be better to have the letters read aloud."

"Better, but more dangerous," said Stannis. "These words will not be kindly received."

"Give me knights to do the reading," Davos said. "That will carry more weight than anything I might say."

Stannis seemed well satisfied with that. "I can give you such men, yes. I have a hundred knights who would sooner read than fight. Be open where you can and stealthy where you must. Use every smuggler's trick you know, the black sails, the hidden coves, whatever it requires. If you run short of letters, capture a few septons and set them to copying out more. I mean to use your second son as well. He will take Lady Marya across the narrow sea, to Braavos and the other Free Cities, to deliver other letters to the men who rule there. The world will know of my claim, and of Cersei's infamy."

You can tell them, Davos thought, but will they believe? He glanced thoughtfully at Maester Pylos. The king caught the look. "Maester, perhaps you ought get to your writing. We will need a great many letters, and soon."

"As you will." Pylos bowed, and took his leave.

The king waited until he was gone before he said, "What is it you would not say in the presence of my maester, Davos?"

"My liege, Pylos is pleasant enough, but I cannot see the chain about his neck without mourning for Maester Cressen."

"Is it his fault the old man died?" Stannis glanced into the fire. "I never wanted Cressen at that feast. He'd angered me, yes, he'd given me bad counsel, but I did not want him dead. I'd hoped he might be granted a few years of ease and comfort. He had earned that much, at least, but" he ground his teeth together-"but he died. And Pylos serves me ably."

"Pylos is the least of it. The letter... What did your lords make of it, I wonder?"

Stannis snorted. "Celtigar pronounced it admirable. If I showed him the contents of my privy, he would declare that admirable as well. The others bobbed their heads up and down like a flock of geese, all but Velaryon, who said that steel would decide the matter, not words on parchment. As if I had never suspected. The Others take my lords, I'll hear your views."

"Your words were blunt and strong."

"And true."

"And true. Yet you have no proof. Of this incest. No more than you did a year ago."

"There's proof of a sort at Storm's End. Robert's bastard. The one he fathered on my wedding night, in the very bed they'd made up for me and my bride. Delena was a Florent and a maiden when he took her, so Robert acknowledged the babe. Edric Storm, they call him. He is said to be the very image of my brother. If men were to see him, and then look again at Joffrey and Tommen, they could not help but wonder, I would think...

"Yet how are men to see him, if he is at Storm's End?"

Stannis drummed his fingers on the Painted Table. "It is a difficulty. One of many." He raised his eyes. "You have more to say about the letter. Well, get on with it. I did not make you a knight so you could learn to mouth empty courtesies. I have my lords for that. Say what you would say, Davos."

Davos hesitated. "It is ill-timed my king, especially after Jon Targaryen brought his proclamation out in the open a week before yourself. All of Westeros has seen his letter and his claim to the Iron Throne, and many are flocking to his side as we speak – mainly from the Crownlands, Dorne and the Westerlands."

"I know what, Davos. But my claim is true and stronger than this Targaryen. I am the rightful king of Westeros, and it is my turn to do what is right."

"Surely, my king, you cannot mean to fight against Jon Targaryen?! Eddard Stark named him the rightful king in front of all of King's Landing, at the cost of his life."

"I acknowledge that he is a trueborn Targaryen, Davos," Stannis said, though he was frowning. "And I respect the boy for his accomplishments. Defeating Clegane, that monster, like that was nothing short of heroic. But…he is a boy, nothing else."

"He is a Targaryen, and with the second strongest army in the Seven Kingdoms," Davos argued. "His claim to the throne is well-known, and noble still cry out for the Targaryens even to this day."

"My wife and Melisandre had named Jon Targaryen time and time again a usurper and a traitor, who is in the way of my throne," Stannis looked troubled as he said this, as he doubted his own words.

"But my king, of course they would say that. So fervent in their devotion to this Lord of Light that they would kill this boy of sixteen who is king to save his family from IIIborn Joffrey. But you, my king, are a just man. A man with honour and justice that made me, a smuggler and the worst lot, think the error of my ways. Eddard Stark was a man similar to you, he would not lie about this. Why do we fight when we can join the son of the beloved Prince Rhaegar? By all accounts, this boy was destined to be a king."

Stannis grinded his teeth, but Davos could see even he was seeing some sort of sense. "I know what Davos, I know that. Different circumstances, I would have gladly supported the Targaryen boy. But when the Rebellion was fought, Robert and Jaime Lannister made sure the Targaryen's lost their claim to the throne, for House Baratheon won it through conquest and with the claim of my grandmother, Rhaelle Targaryen. If this Jon Targaryen wishes to win the throne, then he will need to fight for it. To conquest Westeros like his ancestor Aegon the Conqueror did almost three hundred years ago."

"My king, there are blood ties between Baratheon and Targaryen," Davos said. "Robert became a Kinslayer when he killed Rhaegar during the Battle of the Trident. The true enemy is the Lannisters, your grace. If the Baratheons and Targaryens unite again, the rewards will be worthwhile."

Stannis pulled a letter from his sleeve and handed it to Davos. "Read."

"I cannot." Davos said patiently.

Stannis gritted his teeth. "I always forget. This was a letter Jon Targaryen sent to _me_ with the letter for all the lords and ladies of Westeros."

Stannis unfurled the letter and began to read. "_Lord Stannis Baratheon, my uncle told me of you a great many of times, of your perseverance during the Siege of Storm's End and your skill of warfare during the Greyjoy Rebellion. From what I have heard, you are an honourable, just and temperate, loyal man to the bone. I know you feel like it is your duty, not your right, to be the King of the Seven Kingdoms. As do I. I do not want this throne for my personal gain, for the kingship of this land has become corrupt and sanctified. Cersei Lannister's bastard son rules on the Iron Throne, and it is my role to stop and kill him._

"_Join me, my lord. Join me of ridding this realm of the true enemy: the Lannisters. Swear me fealty, and I promise you, your role of protecting this realm from the golden-haired, green –eyed monsters that murdered innocents shall not go unrewarded. Robert Baratheon, your elder brother, slighted you when he granted you Dragonstone, the island of my ancestors. If you would only swear me your support, I will grant you what is rightfully yours: Lordship of Storm's End and all its incomes and Paramount Lordship of the Stormlands. Dragonstone, I will have to relinquish as it is rightfully belonging to House Targaryen. However, my uncle always said that you were never happy with the island, so I will give you your just deserve. I will even name you my Hand of the King, to provide me just advice in my need. I promise by the old gods and new we will rebuild this kingdom together. Join me, Lord Stannis Baratheon. You do not want to be my enemy. _

Stannis put the letter down on the table. "Signed King Jon Targaryen, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

Davos pointed to the letter. Those terms were better than they would get if they fought against Targaryen and lost "Now is ever more the reason."

Stannis said, "I do not understand why people will not come to their rightful king. By right, I am Robert's one true heir. They know of the incest, but they do not come to me."

"He offers to make you Hand, something Robert did not do to you."

"That was my brother. I am the rightful heir." Stannis was saying stubbornly.

"My king, I live to serve you, but doing so means I must tell you the truth, be it difficult to comprehend. You are not well-liked by most of the Seven Kingdoms. Respected, yes. Even feared by some. But not liked."

Stannis narrowed his eyes, "I know that. Robert and Renly were always the popular ones throughout Westeros. Robert could make enemy into friend, Renly was frivolous and charming. Robert was a handsome and charismatic man, winning friends easily as a youth, and Renly has the same curse. Renly enjoys tournaments and hunting but isn't driven by the passion for food, drink, or wenching, as Robert came to be. I on the other hand am different from my brothers, and people do not seem to like a just man. I honestly do not care. I am their king. It is time I do something different.

"Joffrey, Renly, Jon Targaryen, they shall bend the knee or I shall destroy them."

Though Davos could see that Stannis felt uncomfortable as he said this.

**Tyrion**

"More wine?" Tyrion asked Slynt.

"I should not object," Lord Janos said, holding out his cup. He was built like a keg, and had a similar capacity. "I should not object at all. That's a fine red. From the Arbor?"

"Dornish." Tyrion gestured, and his serving man poured. But for the servants, he and Lord Janos were alone in the Small Hall, at a small candlelit table surrounded by darkness. "Quite the find. Dornish wines are not often so rich." _Let us hope the maker's do not go to the dragon._

"Rich," said the big frog-faced man, taking a healthy gulp. He was not a man for sipping, Janos Slynt. Tyrion had made note of that at once. "Yes, rich, that's the very word I was searching for, the very word. You have a gift for words, Lord Tyrion, if I might say so. And you tell a droll tale. Droll, yes."

"I'm pleased you think so... but I'm not a lord, as you are. A simple Tyrion will suffice for me, Lord Janos."

"As you wish." He took another swallow, dribbling wine on the front of his black satin doublet. He was wearing a cloth-of-gold half cape fastened with a miniature spear, its point enamelled in dark red. And he was well and truly drunk.

Tyrion covered his mouth and belched politely.

"No doubt that will change when you take your seat in Harrenhal," Tyrion said.

"For a certainty. Perhaps I should ask this cook of yours to enter my service, what do you say?"

"Wars have been fought over less," he said, and they both had a good long laugh. "You're a bold man to take Harrenhal for your seat. Such a grim place, and huge... costly to maintain. And some say cursed as well."

"Should I fear a pile of stone?" He hooted at the notion. "A bold man, you said. You must be bold, to rise. As I have. To Harrenhal, yes! And why not? You know. You are a bold man too, I sense. Small, mayhap, but bold. "

"You are too kind. More wine?"

"No. No, truly, I... oh, gods be damned, yes. Why not? A bold man drinks his fill!"

"Truly." Tyrion filled Lord Slynt's cup to the brim. "I have been glancing over the names you put forward to take your place as Commander of the City Watch."

"Good men. Fine men. Any of the six will do, but I'd choose Allar Deem. My right arm. Good, good man. Loyal. Pick him and you won't be sorry. If he pleases the king."

"To be sure." Tyrion took a small sip of his own wine. "I had been considering Ser Jacelyn Bywater. He's been captain on the Mud Gate for three years, and he served with valour during Balon Greyjoy's Rebellion. King Robert knighted him at Pyke. And yet his name does not appear on your list."

Lord Janos Slynt took a gulp of wine and sloshed it around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. "Bywater. Well. Brave man, to be sure, yet... he's rigid, that one. A queer dog. The men don't like him. A cripple too, lost his hand at Pyke, that's what got him knighted. A poor trade, if you ask me, a hand for a ser." He laughed. "Ser Jacelyn thinks overmuch of himself and his honor, as I see it. You'll do better leaving that one where he is, my lord-Tyrion. Allar Deem's the man for you."

"Deem is little loved in the streets, I am told."

"He's feared. That's better."

"What was it I heard of him? Some trouble in a brothel?"

"That. Not his fault, my lor-Tyrion. No. He never meant to kill the woman, which was her own doing. He warned her to stand aside and let him do his duty."

"Still... mothers and children, he might have expected she'd try to save the babe." Tyrion smiled. "Have some of this cheese, it goes splendidly with the wine. Tell me, why did you choose Deem for that unhappy task?"

"A good commander knows his men, Tyrion. Some are good for one job, some for another. Doing for a babe, and her still on the tit, that takes a certain sort. Not every man'd do it. Even if it was only some whore and her whelp."

"I suppose that's so," said Tyrion, hearing only some whore and thinking of Shae, and Tysha long ago, and all the other women who had taken his coin and his seed over the years.

Slynt went on, oblivious. "A hard man for a hard job, is Deem. Does as he's told, and never a word afterward." He cut a slice off the cheese. "This is fine. Sharp. Give me a good sharp knife and a good sharp cheese and I'm a happy man."

Tyrion shrugged. "Enjoy it while you can. With the riverlands in control of Targaryen and stockily supplied in his name, and Renly king in Highgarden, good cheese will soon be hard to come by. So who sent you after the whore's bastard?"

Lord Janos gave Tyrion a wary look, then laughed and wagged a wedge of cheese at him. "You're a sly one, Tyrion. Thought you could trick me, did you? it takes more than wine and cheese to make Janos Slynt tell more than he should. I pride myself. Never a question, and never a word afterward, not with me."

"As with Deem."

"Just the same. You make him your Commander when I'm off to Harrenhal, and you won't regret it."

Tyrion broke off a nibble of the cheese. It was sharp indeed, and veined with wine; very choice. "Whoever the king names will not have an easy time stepping into your armor, I can tell. Lord Mormont faces the same problem."

Lord Janos looked puzzled. "I thought she was a lady. Mormont. Beds down with bears, which are the one?"

"It was her brother I was speaking of. Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. When I was visiting with him on the Wall with Lyanna Stark, he mentioned how concerned he was about finding a good man to take his place. The Watch gets so few good men these days." Tyrion grinned. "He'd sleep easier if he had a man like you, I imagine. Or the valiant Allar Deem."

Lord Janos roared. "Small chance of that!"

"One would think," Tyrion said, "but life does take queer turns. Consider Eddard Stark, my lord. I don't suppose he ever imagined his life would end on the steps of Baelor's Sept."

"There were damn few as did," Lord Janos allowed, chuckling.

Tyrion chuckled too. "A pity I wasn't here to see it. They say even Varys was surprised."

_Possibly he was surprised on how his plans worked successfully. I do not have proof._

Lord Janos laughed so hard his gut shook. "The Spider," he said. "Knows everything, they say. Well, he didn't know that."

"How could he?" Tyrion put the first hint of a chill in his tone. "He had helped persuade my sister that Stark should be pardoned, on the condition that he takes the black. Though he proved himself a traitor in his words, he was meant to take the Watch."

"Eh?" Janos Slynt blinked vaguely at Tyrion.

"My sister Cersei," Tyrion repeated, a shade more strongly, in case the fool had some doubt who he meant. "The Queen Regent."

"Yes." Slynt took a swallow. "As to that, well... the king commanded it, m'lord. The king himself."

"The king is fourteen," Tyrion reminded him.

"Still. He is the king." Slynt's jowls quivered when he frowned. "The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Well, two or three of them, at least," Tyrion said with a sour smile. "Might I have a look at your spear?"

"My spear?" Lord Janos blinked in confusion.

Tyrion pointed. "The clasp that fastens your cape."

Hesitantly, Lord Janos drew out the ornament and handed it to Tyrion.

"We have goldsmiths in Lannisport who do better work, he opined. "The red enamel blood is a shade much, if you don't mind my saying. Tell me, my lord, did you drive the spear into the man's back yourself, or did you only give the command?"

"I gave the command, and I'd give it again. Lord Stark was a traitor." The bald spot in the middle of Slynt's head was beet-red, and his cloth-of-gold cape had slithered off his shoulders onto the floor. "The man tried to buy me."

"Little dreaming that you had already been sold."

Slynt slammed down his wine cup. "Are you drunk? If you think I will sit here and have my honor questioned..."

"What honor is that? I do admit, you made a better bargain than Ser Jacelyn. A lordship and a castle for a spear thrust in the back, and you didn't even need to thrust the spear." He tossed the golden ornament back to Janos Slynt. It bounced off his chest and clattered to the floor as the man rose.

"I dislike the tone of your voice, my lo-Imp. I am the Lord of Harrenhal and a member of the king's council, who are you to chastise me like this?"

Tyrion cocked his head sideways. "I think you know quite well who I am. How many sons do you have?"

"What are my sons to you dwarf?"

"Dwarf?" His anger flashed. "You should have stopped at Imp. I am Tyrion of House Lannister, and someday, if you have the sense the gods gave a sea slug; you will drop to your knees in thanks that it was me you had to deal with, and not my lord father. Now, how many sons do you have?"

Tyrion could see the sudden fear in Janos Slynt's eyes. "Th-three, m'lord. And a daughter. Please, m'lord-"

"You need not beg." He slid off his chair. "You have my word; no harm will come to them. The younger boys will be fostered out as squires. If they serve well and loyally, they may be knights in time. Let it never be said that House Lannister does not reward those who serve it. Your eldest son will inherit the title Lord Slynt, and this appalling sigil of yours." He kicked at the little golden spear and sent it skittering across the floor. "Lands will be found for him, and he can build a seat for himself. It will not be Harrenhal, but it will be sufficient. It will be up to him to make a marriage for the girl."

Janos Slynt's face had gone from red to white. "Wh-what... what do you...?" His jowls were quivering like mounds of suet.

"What do I mean to do with you?" Tyrion let the oaf tremble for a moment before he answered. "The carrack Summer's Dream sails on the morning tide. Her master tells me she will call at Gulltown, the Three Sisters, the isle of Skagos, and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. When you see Lord Commander Mormont, give him my fond regards, and tell him that I have not forgotten the needs of the Night's Watch. I wish you long life and good service, my lord."

Once Janos Slynt realized he was not to be summarily executed, colour returned to his face. He thrust his jaw out.

"We will see about this, Imp. Dwarf. Perhaps it will be you on that ship, what do you think of that? Perhaps it will be you on the Wall." He gave a bark of anxious laughter. "You and your threats, well, we will see. I am the king's friend, you know. We shall hear what Joffrey has to say about this. And Littlefinger and the queen, oh, yes. Janos Slynt has a good many friends. We will see who goes sailing, I promise you. Indeed we will."

Slynt spun on his heel like the watchman he'd once been, and strode the length of the Small Hall, boots ringing on the stone. He clattered up the steps, threw open the door... and came face-to-face with a tall, lantern-jawed man in black breastplate and gold cloak. Strapped to the stump of his right wrist was an iron hand. "Janos," he said, deep-set eyes glinting under a prominent brow ridge and a shock of salt-and-pepper hair. Six gold cloaks moved quietly into the Small Hall behind him as Janos Slynt backed away.

"Lord Slynt," Tyrion called out, "I believe you know Ser Jacelyn Bywater, our new Commander of the City Watch."

"We have a litter waiting for you, my lord," Ser Jacelyn told Slynt. "The docks are dark and distant, and the streets are not safe by night. Men."

As the gold cloaks ushered out their onetime commander, Tyrion called Ser Jacelyn to his side and handed him a roll of parchment. "It's a long voyage, and Lord Slynt will want for company. See that these six join him on the Summer's Dream."

Bywater glanced over the names and smiled. "As you will."

"There's one," Tyrion said quietly. "Deem. Tell the captain it would not be taken amiss if that one should happen to be swept overboard before they reach Eastwatch."

"I'm told those northern waters are very stormy, my lord." Ser Jacelyn bowed and took his leave, his cloak rippling behind him. He trod on Slynt's cloth-of-gold cape on his way.

Ugly business with the babe. He had no doubt Cersei or even Joffrey had ordered the execution of all of King Robert's bastard children, ever since Lord Stark's proclamation. Getting rid of all the evidence, but Cersei would fail, since Edric Storm was still at Storm's End under the protection of his uncle.

Varys came, gliding into the hall, wearing flowing lavender robes that matched his smell. "Oh sweetly done, my good lord."

"Then why do I have this bitter taste in my mouth?" He pressed his fingers into his temples. "I told them to throw Allar Deem into the sea. I am sorely tempted to do the same with you."

"You might be disappointed by the result," Varys replied. "The storms come and go, the waves crash overhead, the big fish eat the little fish, and I keep on paddling. Might I trouble you for a taste of the wine that Lord Slynt enjoyed so much?"

Tyrion waved at the flagon, frowning.

Varys filled a cup. "Ah. Sweet as summer." He took another sip. "I hear the grapes singing on my tongue."

"I wondered what that noise was. Tell the grapes to keep still, my head is about to split. It was my sister. That was what the oh-so-loyal Lord Janos refused to say. Cersei sent the gold cloaks to that brothel."

Varys tittered nervously. So he had known all along.

"You left that part out," Tyrion said accusingly.

"Your own sweet sister," Varys said, so grief-stricken he looked close to tears. "It is a hard thing to tell a man, my lord. I was fearful how you might take it. Can you forgive me?"

"No," Tyrion snapped. "Damn you. Damn her." He could not touch Cersei, he knew. Not yet, not even if he'd wanted to, and he was far from certain that he did.

"In future, you will tell me what you know, Lord Varys. All of what you know."

The eunuch's smile was sly. "That might take rather a long time, my good lord. I know quite a lot."

"Not enough to save this child, it would seem."

"Alas, no. There was another bastard, a boy, older. I took steps to see him removed from harm's way... but I confess, I never dreamed the babe would be at risk. A baseborn girl, less than a year old, with a whore for a mother. What threat could she pose?"

"She was Robert's," Tyrion said bitterly. "That was enough for Cersei, it would seem."

"Why are you so helpful, my lord Varys?" he asked, studying the man's soft hands, the bald powdered face, the slimy little smile.

"You are the Hand. I serve the realm, the good king and the rightful heir to the throne."

_Would that be Jon Targaryen, eunuch?_

Tyrion had heard some of the rumours circulating from the Riverlands: the dragon, the Battle at the Red Ford and Clegane's grievous defeat. He acknowledged the latter, but not the former. Clegane's defeat was a blasted wretch in his father's plan, know that the river lords had reclaimed the Trident.

"As you served Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark?"

"I served Lord Arryn and Lord Stark as best I could. I was saddened and horrified by their most untimely deaths. Even if Stark was a traitor which treasonous voices."

"The people of King's Landing still call for Joffrey's head."

"Such a shame."

"Think how I feel. I'm like to be next Hand to die."

"Oh, I think not," Varys said, swirling the wine in his cup. "Power is a curious thing, my lord. Perchance you have considered the riddle I posed you that day in the inn?"

"It has crossed my mind a time or two," Tyrion admitted. "The king, the priest, the rich man-who lives and who dies? Who will the swordsman obey? It's a riddle without an answer, or rather, too many answers. All depends on the man with the sword."

"And yet he is no one," Varys said. "He has not a crown, or gold or power or of the gods, only a piece of pointed steel."

"That piece of steel is the power of life and death."

"Just so... yet if it is the swordsmen who rule us in truth, why do we pretend our kings hold the power? Why should a strong man with a sword ever obey a child king like Joffrey, or a wine-sodden oaf like his father? "

"Because these child kings and drunken oafs can call other strong men, with other swords."

"Then these other swordsmen have the true power. Or do they? Whence had come into their swords? Why do they obey?" Varys smiled. "Some say knowledge is power. Some tell us that all power comes from the gods. Others say it derives from law. Yet that day on the steps of Baelor's Sept, our godly High Septon and the lawful Queen Regent. Who truly killed Eddard Stark do you think? Joffrey, who gave the command? Ser Ilyn Payne, who swung the sword? Or... another?"

Tyrion cocked his head sideways. "Did you mean to answer your damned riddle, or only to make my head ache worse?"

Varys smiled. "Here, then. Power resides where men believe it resides. No more and no less."

"So power is a mummer's trick?"

"A shadow on the wall," Varys murmured, "yet shadows can kill. And of times a very small man can cast a very large shadow. I would think you would want to serve the rightful king."

Tyrion smiled. "Lord Varys, I am growing strangely fond of you. I may kill you yet, but I think I'd feel sad about it."

"I will take that as high praise."

"What are you, Varys?" Tyrion found he truly wanted to know. "A spider, they say."

"Spies and informers are seldom loved, my lord. I am but a loyal servant of the real and it's people."

"And a eunuch. Let us not forget that."

"I seldom do."

The eunuch's smile never flickered, but his eyes glittered with something that was not laughter. "You are kind to ask, my lord, but my tale is long and sad, and we have treasons to discuss." He drew a parchment from the sleeve of his robe. "The master of the King's Galley White Hart plots to slip anchor three days hence to offer his sword and ship to Jon Targaryen."

Tyrion sighed. "I suppose we must make some sort of bloody lesson out of this man?"

"Ser Jacelyn could arrange for him to vanish, but a trial before the king would help assure the continued loyalty of the other captains."

And keep my royal nephew occupied as well. "As you say. Put him down for a dose of Joffrey's justice."

Varys made a mark on the parchment. "Ser Horas and Ser Hobber Redwyne have bribed a guard to let them out a postern gate, the night after next. Arrangements have been made for them to sail on the Pentoshi galley Moonrunner, disguised as oarsmen."

"Can we keep them on those oars for a few years, see how they fancy it?" He smiled. "No, my sister would be distraught to lose such treasured guests. Inform Ser Jacelyn. Seize the man they bribed and explain what an honor it is to serve as a brother of the Night's Watch. And have men posted around the Moonrunner, in case the Redwynes find a second guard short of coin."

"As you will." Another mark on the parchment. "Your man Timett slew a wineseller's son this evening, at a gambling den on the Street of Silver. He accused him of cheating at tiles."

"Was it true?"

"Oh, beyond a doubt."

"Then the honest men of the city owe Timett a debt of gratitude. I shall see that he has the king's thanks."

The eunuch gave a nervous giggle and made another mark. "We also have a sudden plague of holy men. The comet has brought forth all manner of queer priests, preachers, and prophets, it would seem. They beg in the wine sinks and pot-shops and foretell doom and destruction to anyone who stops to listen."

Tyrion shrugged. "We are close on the three hundredth year since Aegon's Landing; I suppose it is only to be expected. Let them rant."

"They are spreading fear, my lord."

"I thought that was your job."

Varys covered his mouth with his hand. "You are very cruel to say so. One last matter. Lady Tanda gave a small supper last night. I have the menu and the guest list for your inspection. When the wine was poured, Lord Gyles rose to lift a cup to the king, and Ser Balon Swann was heard to remark, 'We'll need four cups for that.' Many laughed..."

Tyrion raised a hand. "Enough. Ser Balon made a jest. Four kings – Joffrey, Stannis, Jon, Renly, who cares? I am not interested in treasonous table talk, Lord Varys."

"You are as wise as you are gentle, my lord." The parchment vanished up the eunuch's sleeve. "We both have much to do. I shall leave you."

"Varys, you said you wanted to talk to me about something. What is it?"

"That can wait for a time my lord."

When the eunuch had departed, Tyrion sat for a long time watching the candle and wondering how his sister would take the news of Janos Slynt's dismissal. Not happily, if he was any judge, but beyond sending an angry protest to Lord Tywin in Harrenhal, he did not see what Cersei could hope to do about it. Tyrion had the City Watch now, plus a hundred-and-a-half fierce clansmen and a growing force of sellswords recruited by Bronn. He would seem well protected.

Doubtless Eddard Stark thought the same when he was Hand. and now he was with Robert in the halls of the old gods and the new.


End file.
